


the decades disappear like sinking ships (but we persevere)

by codevassie



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anxiety, Apathy, Blackmail, Blood, Cinderella Elements, Death Threats, Fainting, Fairy Tale Elements, Imprisonment, M/M, Magic, Nonbinary Logic | Logan Sanders, Scars, Unsympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Vomiting, murder plots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27727432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codevassie/pseuds/codevassie
Summary: Virgil hasn’t seen his brother in years--not since Janus took his place. When an opportunity comes along to finally free Patton, will Virgil take it? After all, it comes with a price.Will Virgil let an innocent man die? Will he allow the prince to be killed?Can he let his soulmate go?
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Comments: 38
Kudos: 51





	1. for the last time

**Author's Note:**

> Title from: 'Dustland Fairytale' by The Killers

Virgil was very against getting up early. He stayed up too late for it--whether on purpose or accident, or on “I’m trying; I really am. My brain just won’t shut up.”

The early morning, however, was the only time he could get in a moment of peace before his day started. If he could just sit for a moment, gulp down a cup of coffee, and remember why he did this all, why he put up with so much, Virgil was a better man for it--less likely to get in trouble, to try shit that would get him threatened or his brother killed. 

Janus never woke up this early. Why in the world was today the day?

“Morning, Virgil,” he drawled, as he strode into the room. Even half-asleep, he walked with the grace of a lion. The sly smirk and narrowed eyes he sported contrasted his round, freckled cheeks and bright curly hair. The face of Virgil’s brother would never sit quite right on Janus. 

“Janus,” Virgil drawled. Bad idea, but, as we’ve gone over, Virgil needed time to set his mind straight in the mornings. 

Janus turned, smile twitching at the corners. It looked more like Patton this time, but in a horrible, broken type way. The smile was wider, less threatening, yet it looked as though a marionette tugged strings at the corners of his lips. Virgil put his mug down carefully, already resigned to his fate. 

But, surprisingly, Janus recovered quickly, turning back around to the toaster and sliding some bread in. Virgil took a moment to sit puzzled as the man ignored him. It took a few minutes for the bread to toast, and for Janus to scrape some jelly across and sit down at the opposite end of the table. 

“I will be lenient with your slip-up today,” Janus said, spreading a napkin across his lap. “It is an important day, after all, and I won’t be wasting energy on you.”

Virgil blinked, thought of what to say to that, and decided it was in his best interest to say nothing at all. He picked up his mug again, taking a long sip from the coffee. He’d need it for whatever the heck was going on here. A calm Janus may look nice on the outside, but Virgil knew it hid worse things.

“If everything goes well,” Janus continued, apparently in a chatty mood that morning. He picked up a slice of toast. “You and your brother shall be debt-free by midnight.” 

Virgil choked, struggled not to spit-take right in Janus’ face. That would surely add on a few years to their servitude. Forcing down the swallow, Virgil found his voice. “W-what?” 

“The prince has come of age,” Janus said. It was strange seeing him in a good mood. “He will attend his first ball tonight.” 

Virgil had heard of the ball, sure. He’d heard of the prince’s coming of age too. His eighteenth birthday had been a month ago and there had been festivities throughout the capitol. Why this was so important eluded him, however. 

“What does this have to do with us?” Virgil asked, doubt creeping into his voice. Janus was in a good enough mood to ignore even  _ that _ . 

“With you? It doesn’t. With Patton, however…” Janus smiled and chomped down, a speck of jelly dotting his cheek. Virgil was still afraid of him, even as ridiculous as that looked. “I’ll be wearing Patton’s face to the ball. Where I will kill the prince.”

This time, Virgil did do a spit-take. And thank the gods he aimed for his cup. He may have had a cup full of backwash now, but better that than all over Janus’ face. Still, Janus didn’t look very amused. 

“Is that protest I hear?”

Virgil shook his head immediately. “No, no,” he said- protested. Damn it. “I mean, that’s fine. I just- you said you would keep Patton out of that stuff. You said we could return normally after this was all done.”

“Oh, no worries,” Janus waved a hand. “Patton will not be framed for my actions. When I kill the prince, I want the whole kingdom to know who’s done it.”

A dark look grew on Janus’ face--Patton’s face--Janus’ version of Patton’s face.

“The king will know who has killed his son.”

Virgil looked him over. He hugged his mug closer to his chest, despite drinking out of it being the last thing he wanted to do. Janus could really be creepy when he wanted, and, yeah, no, Virgil didn’t want any part of this. 

“You need me to do anything?”

Janus blinked back to his surroundings. He looked over Virgil, boredom crossing his face once more. 

“You? No.”

“Alrighty,” Virgil said, standing up and going to wash his mug. “I guess I’ll go do my chores and leave you to…  _ that  _ then.” 

“Your freedom is within your grasp, Virgil,” Janus said as Virgil walked out. Faintly, Virgil heard the words that followed. “And so is my revenge.”

-/-

As Virgil swept the house--for the last time--he thought back to his father. He’d been a hardworking man, but he’d certainly gotten into business he had no right to be in. He did things, so many things, and Virgil hadn’t even known until he’d passed. 

Until Janus arrived and disclosed the debts his father owed. 

These debts, apparently, were not forgiven in death. Like student loans. Instead, they fell to his next of kin. Virgil and his brother Patton. 

As Virgil wiped down the bathroom mirror--for the last time--he thought back to his brother. Patton was the sweetest person to live, and would help anyone in need--even if he’d be late to school or out of money for his own lunch. No one would ever expect him of anything nefarious. 

Which had been perfect for Janus.

Virgil hadn’t seen Patton--the real Patton--in years. He was kept under lock and key somewhere, while Janus pretended to be him day after day. 

As Virgil made Patton’s bed--soiled for years by the man--he thought of Janus. He’d twisted their lives around, manipulated two orphans, two boys mourning their father, into doing his bidding. Patton hadn’t finished school. Virgil had been turned into a household servant. Patton had been taken. Virgil had been silenced. 

Janus needed to look unassuming. He was wanted by the crown, and to whatever ends he was within the kingdom needed to be done incognito. 

When Virgil looked down at the bed, he decided it was not the last time he’d make it. But it was certainly the last he’d do it for Janus. When he got his brother back, Virgil knew he’d do anything for Patton. He’d make his bed and brew their morning coffee. Virgil wouldn’t spend his mornings alone, trying to reign himself in. He’d tell Patton ‘good morning’ every morning and ‘good night’ every night. He’d remind himself every day that Patton was there again, and he’d remind Patton every day that he was safe. 

Virgil looked up, gazed out the window and into the town and beyond. High in the sky, the palace loomed. They lived close to the castle gates--another reason Janus had found their little family ideal to exploit. 

Janus was going to kill the prince that night. 

Virgil thought about it, really thought about it. The prince was around Virgil’s age, and he was going to die, be murdered. Eighteen years old and he was going to die. That was too young to die. That was far too young. 

Sure, he was a prince, but what had he really experienced in life? Had he ever fallen in love? Had he sipped wine? Had he left the castle walls?

There were things that Virgil knew for certain. Prince Roman had never been to a ball. Tonight was his first, and he was going to die during it. 

Virgil also knew Prince Roman had never met his soulmate. 

There were always festivities when a royal found their soulmate, or so Virgil had heard. The last one had been the king, and that had been well before Virgil was born. It was for sure, though, that the prince had never found his. And, now, he would never find them. 

It was sad, Virgil decided. He would die so young. And his soulmate would never know. But it was worth his and Patton’s freedom. 

Right?

“Right,” he told himself, looking away from the window. 

So why couldn’t he shake his mind of it?

-/-

When evening arrived, Janus was in a good enough mood to relieve him of his chores. Which also meant Virgil got to see what the man was wearing to the ball. 

It was very nice. A sleek suit with buttons of gold and a kerchief of yellow. It wasn’t Patton at all though. 

Patton would wear a dress. It would be blue and the skirt would be a little poofy. Patton would have loved to go to a ball. This would have totally been his thing. 

Another thing Janus had taken from them. 

But Patton was coming back, and they’d have time to make it up. They’d have time to go to balls, and Patton would get to wear his dress and put Virgil in his makeup and drag him from the corners to dance. 

All Virgil had to do was stay back and hope Janus killed the prince. 

When Janus left, Virgil couldn’t stop thinking about it. So he did what he always did when he needed to think. He went out and swallowed the evening air. 

As he walked into the backyard, he took note of the purpling sky, the old tire swing, the blue forget-me-nots in the corner of the garden. He sat down on the steps in front of the back door, rested his chin in his palms, marvelled the crescent moon emerging in the sky. 

He really was just going to let the prince die. That was treason, right? By sitting there, he was allowing a plot against the crown. And he was allowing the death of an innocent. Virgil was going to let Janus kill the prince, not even for anything the prince had done himself. The prince was just a piece in this game, something to get back at the king for something Virgil didn’t even know. 

“This is wrong,” Virgil mumbled, sticking his thumb between his teeth.

“You are right.”

Virgil jumped a mile. 

“Wha- Who’s there?” Virgil exclaimed, now on his feet. He was on the stairs, so that was like high ground, right? Advantage? If anything, maybe he could just duck back into the house.

Then, something freaky happened. A person materialized in front of him, sparkling into existence in a cloud of blue at the foot of the stairs. 

“I’m sorry. I forgot that mortals cannot see me in my original form,” the sparkling figure said. For a moment, Virgil was stunned. Their eyes were aglow and so was the long dress they wore, glimmering under the lights of the stars appearing in the sky above. In fact in the person’s presence, the stars seemed to shine brighter. Virgil had never seen the stars so clearly in the heart of their city. 

“Holy fuck,” Virgil said. It was all he  _ could  _ say. 

“My name is Logan,” they said, reaching out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Uh- uhhh,” Virgil said in reply. Logan looked at him with amusement. They must have been used to these kinds of reactions. Virgil forced himself to snap out of it. “V-Virgil,” he said, shaking the proffered hand quickly. 

Logan smiled. “Pleasure. Now, I believe you were in need of a fairy godparent?” 

“Are you serious?” Virgil asked. “You’re- you’re a fairy godparent?”

He’d heard of them before. In times of great need, people could be granted a godparent from the fae realm. Where most fae did not care for man-kind, there were a select few which watched over them and intervened when necessary. This was absolutely so freaking rare, and Virgil decided he must have been dreaming. 

“Did my  _ sparkling  _ into existence not give it away?” Logan asked, looking actually a little befuddled at this.

“I mean, if anyone I’d believe you were a godparent, but the odds of this kind of thing… I’ve got to be dreaming,” Virgil said. Logan nodded, understanding. 

“The odds  _ are  _ rather infinitesimal, but please be assured that you are not dreaming. I am here to help you and help the kingdom.”

“...the prince,” Virgil said, finally getting it. He was starting to deflate, dread filling his chest. “You want me to help the prince.”

“No. I want to help  _ you _ help the prince,” Logan said. “You already want to help the prince.”

Virgil shook his head. “I definitely do not.”

Again, Logan looked confused at this. “But you just said-”

“I know what I said. Just because it’s wrong doesn’t mean I want to do something about it.”

Logan frowned severely. “Surely you must want to right a wrong.”

“I don’t.” Virgil shook his head. “Find someone else if it’s so important. I can’t.”

Logan was narrowing their eyes, an unhappy tilt to their jaw. “And why not? Because you are afraid?”

“Yeah!” Virgil exclaimed. “Pretty much!”

“Putting yourself in harm’s way will be scary, but one has to be brave to make a difference. Will you really stand by and let such an injustice happen?” Logan asked, defiant now. Virgil ground his teeth together.

“Yeah, I will. Because it’s not about me. My  _ brother  _ could get hurt. I’m not risking that, so fuck off.”

Logan blinked, thrown off. “I’m sorry?” they asked. “What about your brother?”

“Are you kidding me?” Virgil asked. “Do you even know  _ why  _ the prince is in danger?”

Logan blinked at him again. Virgil, instead of getting angrier as he might have expected, deflated. He closed his eyes, looked away. 

“The man who is going to kill the prince has been planning this for years. He wants revenge on the king, but he has to disguise himself to get into the castle, or, really, be anywhere in the kingdom. He’s using my brother’s face to do that and has Patton locked up somewhere. If I interfere, Janus could hurt him,” he said. Virgil opened his eyes, looked down at his clenched fists. “Maybe even kill him.”

There was a long silence following. Sighing, Virgil finally looked up, right into Logan’s surprised eyes. In a moment, however, they had schooled their expression, looking away. 

“I see,” Logan said, voice more somber now. “You have much to lose.” 

“Too much,” Virgil said. “And I’m not risking it.”

Another silence. Virgil thought he had gotten through to Logan, but, somehow, that didn’t comfort him.

Perhaps… he had hoped there was a way he could help. Maybe Virgil had, for once, thought there was a way to fight back.

“What if I made a way where this Janus could not recognize you?”

Virgil jolted back, eyes focusing on the glowing irises across from him. 

“W-what?”

Logan gestured to something--Virgil didn’t know what--with their hands, explaining animatedly. “If he does not know it is you, then he will not know you are responsible for his downfall.”

“Could that actually work?” Virgil asked, heart daring to pick up. He was still scared out of his mind, for his brother and for himself. Could he go to the ball? Could he face Janus?

“Of course. May I?” Logan offered a hand, but Virgil could tell it was not for taking. He nodded and the hand outstretched. Logan blew at it and blue dust flew everywhere. “There. No one will be able to recognize you.”

Virgil looked down at himself. Nothing had changed. He looked back up, squinting. “Are you sure?”

Logan nodded. “Positive. Now, you don’t have much time. Should I fly you there?”

Virgil was reeling. This was all going so fast. 

“Wait. Will this also make me look formal? I am going to a ball…”

Logan stopped, looked him up and down. A small smile grew on their face. “Ah, yes. The classic fairy godparent magic.” They snapped their fingers, and suddenly, another puff of smoke enclosed him. Virgil was coughing up a storm until it dissipated, and then he was a changed man. 

He was in a dark suit, black with purple accents. His cuffs were little spiders and his bowtie a strange stitched purple pattern. His shoes, oddly enough, were still his normal sneakers, if not cleaned up a little. 

“A classic Cinderella,” Logan said. A joke, if Virgil heard the tone right. He had no idea what Logan was talking about, but Logan kicked at his shoe anyway. “We’ve learned a few things since Cinderella though.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Virgil said. 

Logan shook their head. “You don’t need to. Just be assured this prince will not be left with any mementos of your flee. Your identity will be safe.”

“Um… thanks?”

“You are most welcome,” Logan said, nodding. “Now, to that ball.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is a little thing I did about a month ago. I was maybe a little stressed and sleep-deprived when I wrote it, so don't mind the quality lol. It was fun to write, and that's what I needed. Idk how often updates are going to be, but 4.5/5 chapters are written, so it WILL be completed.  
> Please pay attention to the tags. Janus will be unsympathetic throughout this whole thing. He's the "evil stepmother" so. Yep.  
> Also! This contributes to my enby sides bucket list sorta. Since Logan is fae in this, and I don't want the stereotype of nonbinary characters only as nonhuman characters to be their only place on my bucket list, I'll be making Nonbinary Logan again sometime in the future.  
> Lastly, I've got oneshot requests open on my blog right now if anyone is interested. I also post updates on the blog if that helps you keep up with the fic.  
> Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Have a lovely day everyone!


	2. first, find the prince. next, profit??

Logan wasn’t kidding when they said they’d  _ fly Virgil to the ball _ . Holy crap, that was the scariest thing of Virgil’s life. And he was about to literally risk everything to save some guy he’d never met. 

“Good luck,” Logan told him on the balcony, then disappeared. Virgil cursed. 

“Hey, wait! What am I supposed to- Okay, they’re gone.” He looked around, to the lights leaking out from the ballroom and the garden below the stone barrier. At least on the balcony Virgil didn’t have to sneak in. Being the prince’s first ball, invitations were extended to each family in the capital, but Virgil hadn’t requested one. He hadn’t even expected Janus to go, but of course, that was proven wrong that morning. 

As Virgil walked toward the open doors to the ballroom, he realized some things about these sorts of dances he had never known before. 

They were loud.

They were crowded.

They were bright in the dimmest way possible, and Virgil had no clue how the heck they managed that.

People were everywhere, in corners, on the dance floor spinning in their gowns and in synchronized fashion. The very sight made Virgil want to vomit. He’d forgotten about the dancing. He’d forgotten how many people were invited to these things. 

To be honest, Virgil had never been to a ball either. It was his  _ and  _ the prince’s first. 

Virgil forced himself to push through, walking along the corners of the room and past clusters of people leaning in to trade gossip, laugh loudly, have… fun. It was strange to Virgil how anyone could have fun in these conditions, but it was obvious they did. Why else would they throw these things in the first place?

He wove through people, eyes going to and fro, across the dance floor where chandeliers lit the hall best, and sparkled through their hanging crystals. He looked to the corners where low lamps were mounted from the walls at intervals. It was all electric, yet the ballroom gave off an antique vibe of dim flames and oil lamps. It helped with the slowly forming headache at Virgil’s temple, but every sleeve he brushed past counteracted any comfort the shadows gave. 

He was trying to think of a plan. First, find the prince. Next, profit??

Shouldn’t be hard. The prince was probably wearing a crown or something. But there was a downside to the darkness. Virgil couldn’t see shit. 

“Excuse me,” he said to probably the hundredth person he passed, trying to duck his way by while his heart squeezed itself to death. He wanted to look at the ground, pretend he was anywhere else, but he had a prince to find.

“I’m sorry, but are you okay?” a voice spoke up from next to him, the one he had just passed. With a start, Virgil realized they were talking to him. 

Slowly, he turned, coming face-to-face with… actually a rather gorgeous man. 

_ Not now, gay thoughts. You’ve got a mission.  _

“I’m fine,” Virgil quickly dismissed. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

The man, however, only looked more concerned at that. “You didn’t bother me at all.”

Virgil paused. He… didn’t know what to say to that. 

He didn’t have to. The man stuck out a hand. “I’m Roman.”

Virgil paused once more, eyes widening this time. “As in…  _ Prince  _ Roman?”

Roman smiled sheepishly, retracting his hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Um, yeah. That’s me.”

And so, like a dumbass who’d learned once upon a time how to greet royalty but forgets all sense of cordiality in awkward and/or anxious situations, Virgil responded with, “Oh.”

He looked up. The guy wasn’t wearing a crown. 

Good thing he knocked into him?

“Yes, I suppose that is a rather ‘oh’ thing,” the prince said, looking amused. 

And, for once, Virgil didn’t feel afraid of having said the wrong thing. Despite talking to one of the most powerful people in the kingdom, Virgil couldn’t imagine feeling the same fear towards this guy that he did with Janus. For all of the two seconds he’d known him, Roman had shown Virgil, a random passerby, genuine concern, and stopped to introduce himself. 

Virgil’s resolve strengthened in the moment. The kingdom needed a guy like Roman. And Virgil definitely wasn’t letting a guy like Roman get murdered by Janus. 

But how the heck was he supposed to do that?

“Is it the crowds?” Roman asked, and Virgil let his attention fall back to the prince. Roman was looking at him with concern again, and Virgil realized he’d been zoned out for too long. 

Virgil shook his head. “It’s fine. Thank you, though, my prince.”

The prince paused for a second, shifting a bit on his feet. “Please, there’s no need. Just call me Roman.”

Virgil couldn’t help but laugh. “There’s  _ got  _ to be some rule against that.”

“I mean, technically…” Roman said. Virgil shook his head.

“So I either deny the prince or go against the system? Sounds like a trap to me.”

“You’re a clever one, aren’t you?” Roman said, and it sounded more a tease than a compliment. Virgil put a hand on his hip.

“Not clever enough,” he said. “There’s no getting out of this one. I’m going to jail.”

Roman shook his head. “You aren’t going to jail. I’m permitted to ask people to call me by my name. Just… not very often.”

“So what I’m hearing is,” Virgil leaned in, smirk on his lips, “You’re a rule breaker too.”

Roman frowned. Again, Virgil did not feel fear. Not like with Janus. 

“I am not a rule breaker. I can do as I please, is all.”

“So you rewrite the laws to suit your own needs?” Virgil asked. “That doesn’t sound very princely.” 

Roman’s eyes widened. “I do not!” he exclaimed. Virgil smirked, and Roman narrowed his eyes again, catching onto Virgil’s game. “You’re trying to get a rise out of me.”

Virgil displayed his hands in surrender. “Caught.”

A smile made its way to Roman’s lips, and Virgil couldn’t help but stare for a beat. Damn it, he wasn’t supposed to get distracted. This was important. He had to figure out a way to protect the prince until the night’s end.

“You are an interesting one,” Roman said. 

Virgil tilted his head. “Or maybe you should just get out more.”

When Roman openly laughed at that, Virgil’s heart skipped a beat.

“Would you care for a dance?” Roman asked. 

Virgil blinked at him. Then-

_ Holy shit is he asking me holy shit no holy shit- _

But how else was Virgil supposed to keep him safe but be around him? If he could intervene when Janus came along, or get Roman away fast enough before something drastic was necessary- Or maybe…

Maybe it wasn’t up to Virgil. 

He looked around--cut his eyes across the lamps and the pillars at the edges of the ballroom. There was a guard stationed at each. There were so many guards. 

Maybe all Virgil had to do was keep Roman close to the guards.

An idea formed in his head. 

“I don’t enjoy dancing. I’m sorry, my prince,” he said, shaking his head. It wasn’t a very good plan, but he could always make another one if it fell through.

To his surprise, however, Roman looked disappointed. 

Which was a relief. Roman did not, in fact, move onto the dance floor without Virgil. He looked to the edges of the room--more private, yes, but also closer to the guards.

“Then perhaps we can move somewhere else to talk. I would love to hear more of your incredible wit.”

“Lead ahead,” Virgil said, trying to keep his cool at the compliment. He couldn’t scare Roman off now. He needed to stay close and keep the prince near the walls.

As the prince led him, he talked to Virgil over his shoulder, making way through the crowd, which parted easily for them. “Also,  _ please  _ just call me Roman. I swear you won’t get executed or something.”

Virgil chewed on that for a second then nodded. “Okay… Roman.”

And when Roman shot back a blinding smile, Virgil knew it was worth it. 

“And what can I call you?” Roman asked as they reached the wall. There was enough room to breathe here and, for a second, Virgil had almost felt relaxed. He should have known that wouldn’t last long. 

What could Roman call him? 

Not Virgil, that was for sure. Virgil wasn’t supposed to be here. 

“That, Roman, is a mystery,” he said instead. A tease to cover up for his secrets. Roman looked intrigued. 

“Hardly seems fair that you get my name, and I get nothing in return,” he said. 

“Do you only give things expecting something in return?” Virgil asked. 

“If it’s the name of a dashing fellow like yourself, perhaps,” Roman said. For a second, Virgil’s brain short-circuited. 

Was… Roman flirting with him? 

The large part of Virgil that wasn’t cheering was in absolute panic. Virgil couldn’t even handle flirting on a regular day, much less one with so much at stake. 

There was no way he was surviving the night. 

“But, of course, you may keep it. If I do not deserve the honor yet, then I am more than willing to wait,” Roman said, leaning against the wall to look at Virgil. Virgil was thankful for the dim lighting once more because he was sure he must be glowing red. 

“Perhaps,” Virgil coughed, trying to steady his voice. “Perhaps one day you’ll be worthy.” Another tease--and, oh crap, was that where the flirting had come from? Their teasing? Virgil’s brain was flashing red. Abort abort abort.

“I can only dream of a day,” Roman sighed melodramatically. Virgil leaned on the wall next to him. 

“So, I heard this is your first ball.”

Roman smiled. “It is. Have you been to one?”

Virgil shook his head and looked around. “I’m beginning to suspect they’re not my thing.”

“I could tell. I rather like it though. It’s a lot of responsibility being the prince at one of these--you have to talk to  _ everyone _ . But it’s nice, seeing all the people. I want to connect to the people I’ll rule one day.”

“Am I holding you up?” Virgil asked, curious more than anything. He didn’t want to drive Roman away, but would Roman have to leave anyway? He was right; he had duties as prince here.

But Roman shook his head. “It’s my first ball. They’ll cut me some slack.”

“Really? I thought it’d be the opposite,” Virgil said. “Wouldn’t everyone be interested in talking with you?”

Roman eyed the crowd. Everyone seemed to be in their own worlds, chatting and laughing. A couple people looked their way, but no one approached. “I suppose,” Roman said. “Some people might approach throughout the night. Is that alright with you? You’re welcome to leave any time.”

Virgil shook his head. “I can handle a little social interaction,” he said. “I’m not a complete lost cause.”

In truth, if he wasn’t on a mission to save Roman’s freaking life, he might have considered it. He was, in fact, a lost cause when it came to social interaction, and people swarming him at a party sounded like a nightmare.

It was a small price to pay. Truly the tiniest of prices in the scheme of all he had to lose. 

And, again, Roman’s smile made it all worth it. It warmed Virgil from head to toe, and he’d only known the guy for, like, five minutes. 

Somehow, Prince Roman had gotten under his skin, nestled in safe and warm near his heart. Virgil couldn’t help but feel responsible for the man--no, not just responsible. Bound to him. He wanted to do this. Not just for the kingdom. Not just to spite Janus. Not just to save an innocent life.

But to save Roman’s life. A truly shining life, full of future potential, current happiness, something beautiful and irreplaceable. 

Damn, how had this happened so quickly? 

“Where did you grow up?” Roman asked, and Virgil was familiar with the phrase. Small talk. He tried to stay sane.

“In the capitol. Not too far from here,” he said truthfully. There was no point lying. Most people there probably lived nearby. “Are  _ you  _ from around here?”

Roman laughed. “No, I come from far far away. First you have to climb lots of stairs because our castle is not of the accessible sort yet, then you have to wind through many halls.”

“It sounds like you underwent quite a journey to be here tonight,” Virgil said. Roman nodded in faux seriousness. 

“I did indeed.”

Virgil laughed, and, wow, he couldn’t remember the last time he did that. It was nice. It made him feel so light and airy. It was almost easy to forget it all, to stay in that moment with just him and Roman, talking, laughing, doing… the party thing, Virgil guessed. Except, somehow, it felt so much greater. More than small pleasantries and gossip. It was something… something growing, something being nurtured between them and waiting for the sun to sprout. 

When Virgil looked back to Roman, he had a different sort of smile on his face. He was looking at Virgil, light in his eyes, his lips dancing with the slightest curve. Virgil paused, tilting his head. “What?” he asked. 

Roman blinked, then seemed to snap out of it. He shook his head subtly, looking sheepish again. 

“Sorry, I think I zoned out,” he said. His face seemed different, brighter, but Virgil couldn’t quite tell in the light. 

So he just gave his own little smile, something reassuring and.. Soft. God damn. 

“That’s alright,” he said. “So, tell me more about this far off land where you come from. Did you have toilets?”

Roman gave him a befuddled expression, and yet his face was still doing that thing. “We did have toilets,” he said. “We also had television and ovens.”

“There’s no way you’ve seen an oven once in your life, Princey.” The nickname came natural. Virgil decided to stick with it.

“Oh, you want to bet?” Roman asked.

Roman’s story of how he absolutely destroyed the palace kitchens when he was younger trying to make cookies was hilarious. So was the one of getting caught in the sprinklers during sword-fighting lessons, running away from tutors, sneaking into his father’s study when the king was in the middle of a meeting, and all sorts of other topics that cropped up during the night.

And, funny enough, Roman seemed to get a kick out of Virgil’s own stories too. Most of them were about him and Patton--sans the name--and life before Janus--sans those circumstances. He told of jumping in the lake fully clothed, almost breaking their arms multiple times on the tire swing, their father telling them bedtime stories before they went to sleep… 

“He sounds like a great man,” Roman said, eyes towards the ceiling as he leaned on the wall. 

Virgil nodded. “He was. He did so much for us…” he trailed off, thinking of all the things, despite the debt he’d left them with, their father had done for them. It was because of them, his love for them, that he had ended up with the debt in the first place, so desperate to ensure the best for his sons. 

Roman pulled his gaze from the ceiling, looked over his face. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Virgil blinked, realized what he was saying. “Thank you.”

For a moment, there was silence between them. It wasn’t awkward, and it wasn’t borne of a lack of things to say. If Virgil were to say, it was from comfort, knowing they could take a break and it wouldn’t become something difficult to break. This silence wasn’t a barrier; it was a link. 

As Virgil took in their silence, appreciating it for all it was, he looked around the ballroom.

Funny enough, no one had approached them in all the time they’d been there. Did that mean it hadn’t actually been all that long? It didn’t feel like a long time, but as Virgil looked up to the clock tower at the far end of the room, he froze.

Twelve loud bongs signaled midnight. Almost everyone in the room paused to listen.

It had been hours. Virgil had been talking to Roman for hours. 

“Wow, time flies,” Roman commented. Virgil nodded, head turning back to him.

On its way, however, his eyes caught on something familiar in the crowd.

Or someone.

Virgil’s heart caught in his throat as Janus moved towards them in the crowd, eyes firmly set on, not Roman, but Virgil. He was used to his brother’s eyes glaring at him in disdain by now, yet it still hurt. Despite knowing Janus couldn’t recognize him, he was still afraid. 

Was Janus coming over there to lead Roman away? Or would he kill the prince in front of a witness? In front of the guards and the whole ballroom to see?

Janus had said he wanted the king to know who did it. Could that mean he was okay with getting caught?

Or did he have a plan to escape?

_ Breathe, Virgil. Just breathe. Logan said he can’t recognize you. He’s probably just pissed that someone’s got Roman’s attention. It won’t be easy for Janus to lead him away. And you won’t let anything happen, even if Janus tries something right here in the ballroom. _

“Hey, everything okay?”

Virgil’s brain was in a fog. He had to be vigilant, yet he couldn’t quite drag himself out. 

“Hey,” the voice came again.

Virgil tried to latch onto it. This wasn’t the time for this. He had to snap out of it.

“Hey,” Roman’s asked again, voice patient. Something touched Virgil’s hand, and Virgil grabbed hold. Then there was a tingling sensation all along his fingertips. It traveled up, warming his palm, encircling his wrist. There was a reassuring weight, something familiar and foreign all at once.

With a gasp, he snapped out of it. When he turned to Roman, the prince’s eyes were already down at their hands. Brow furrowing, he let his gaze travel down as well.

In the dim light, Virgil at first thought he was seeing things. There were shadows along their hands, crawling up their wrists and lower arms. Roman’s looked darker, but they both had the same simple pattern. At a closer look, Virgil was able to distinguish the patterns. Vines. With delicate curling leaves and sharp little thorns. 

That was when Virgil realized they weren’t shadows at all.

“Soulmarks,” he murmured. Excruciatingly slowly, Virgil’s eyes traveled back up to Roman’s face. The prince looked just as stunned as he was. Virgil was speechless. He opened his mouth and-

“Brother,” a sickly sweet voice from behind spoke up. “It’s time to go.”

That was when everything crashed and burned. 

Virgil’s head whipped back, immediately finding where Janus stood a few feet away. He had a small smile on his face, eyes a bit too wide, teeth a little too sharp. He was looking at Virgil. Again. 

He had called him brother. 

Janus strode forward and took his hand from Roman’s. Both, still too shocked, let go easily. When Janus leaned in, a shiver ran down Virgil’s spine. 

“I am leaving. If you know what’s good for Patton, you will do the same. And quickly,” he hissed into Virgil’s ear. 

Then without another word, Janus turned and disappeared again in the crowd, leaving Virgil to gape after him. 

Janus had recognized him. 

“Wait,” Roman said, finally finding his voice and slipping his hand into Virgil’s once more. Virgil looked back to him. “You can’t go yet. Please, stay.”

Virgil looked from Roman to his hand, their soulmarks twisting and twining together, almost as if one. It was beautiful, even in the shadows. 

Then Virgil looked back through the crowd, back to where Janus had disappeared. 

He thought of Patton.

He thought of all the rules he’d broken that night. All the reasons Janus could have to punish his brother. 

Virgil knew he couldn’t stay. He shook his head. 

“I-I can’t.”

“Please,” Roman pleaded. “You can’t just leave. Not after we just found out we’re  _ soulmates _ .”

“I have to,” Virgil said, tearing his hand away. He backed away. Roman reached out. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, oddly emotional now, his brain spinning with  _ save Patton leave Roman behind save Patton leave Roman behind save Patton- _

Then he turned and fled into the crowd. 

Oddly enough, it was easy to get out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The night is almost over, but the story has only just begun. 
> 
> Just a reminder because I'm used to my projects being a bit different: this is a very basic story and I'm not planning on making it anymore complicated. It's just something fluffy and fun. Hope you all like it in spite of that. Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful day :D


	3. Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Vomiting

Janus had a carriage waiting out front. Virgil would have thought he’d make him walk home, but maybe the situation was a little too delicate for that right now. Janus had, after all, failed that night.

Virgil had too, by most accounts. He’d saved the prince, but damned his brother. 

They rode in silence all the way home, yet as soon as he slammed the front door behind them. Janus’ furious eyes were on him. 

“ _ What _ do you think you were doing at that ball?”

“You never said I couldn’t-” Virgil tried, but he should have known that would never work with Janus. 

“Talking to the  _ prince _ ?” he yelled. He stormed upon him, mirage flickering. It was a relief, somewhat, to see this piece of him fall separate from Virgil’s brother. A glimpse of that scaly cheek was all Virgil needed to stay strong. “You were there to sabotage my plans. I was unable to pull the prince away once tonight!”

“Sounds like your plan sucked,” Virgil said, feeling brave. 

However, Janus didn’t seem to take the bait. In fact, he scrutinized him. 

“And yours was any better? Cheap illusion magic? I am the  _ master  _ of illusion magic, Virgil. The second I noticed what it was, I was able to strip it away in a heartbeat.”

Virgil chomped down on his lip to keep it from trembling. Of course that’s why. Of course Logan’s magic should have worked--on anyone but Janus, who worked in that type of magic all the time. Stupid. How had Virgil not thought of that?

Janus grabbed his hand, and it was much harsher than Roman’s grip. He twisted it in the light, and, for the first time, they both got a good look at the mark. 

It was even more beautiful in the light, red vines curling around his forearm and winding about his fingers. The thorns looked too soft to pierce anything and the leaves too small to be of any significance. It was just like the stories said: a soulmark that grows with your bond.

“Perhaps though, all is not lost,” Janus said, voice low, menacing. Virgil looked up, not sure he  _ wanted  _ to know where this was going. “Perhaps I do not need  _ Patton  _ when I have  _ you _ .”

Virgil’s eyes widened. He shook his head, trying to immediately shut this down. 

“You can’t turn into me. What will people say about Patton?”

“I will bring him back. Or simply tell people he is sick. I don’t care; as long as he isn’t in my way,” Janus said flippantly, going to sit on the armchair in the corner. Panic seized Virgil. 

“You’ve had years to practice as Patton. Can you really switch?”

Janus shrugged, loosening his tie and removing the gloves from his formal attire. “It’ll be a hassle, but it shouldn’t be a worry.”

“A hassle!” Virgil said. “That’s right! You don’t have to do that. I- I can lure Roman in.”

“You?” Janus looked doubtful, going to examine his nails. “I think not. You have no time to prepare, and I’ve seen your acting skills.”

“I’ve got time!” Virgil exclaimed. “He doesn’t even know my name. He’ll be out searching for days, maybe weeks, for the guy with his soulmark.”

At this, Janus finally paused, looking over at Virgil. “He doesn’t know your name, you say?”

Virgil stopped too. Feeling uneasy, he replied, “Uh, yeah?”

Janus stood, leaving his gloves behind in the chair. Once again, he approached Virgil, looking him over. 

“You and your brother look alike, do you not?”

Virgil furrowed his brow. He didn’t respond. He wasn’t prepared for this to be a trap.

Janus didn’t need him to respond, however. 

He picked up Virgil’s arm again, examining the pattern closely. Janus pulled his own sleeve up, and, with a look of concentration, the pattern started to form. Virgil gasped. 

“Then I’d say, Roman didn’t meet Virgil at that ball at all,” Janus mused. He held up the arm to display, like a beautiful counterfeit sold for millions. His smile was curling at the corners, genuine for a snake. 

“I’d say that it was Patton there all along.”

-/-

It didn’t take Roman long to find the house. Two days after the ball, he arrived at their doorstep. Word had gone around that he was knocking at doors to capital homes close by the palace. Virgil would be flattered Roman remembered that little detail if not for the trap awaiting him.

Janus was the one to answer the door. Usually, it’d be up to Virgil, but since he’d heard of Roman’s search, Janus had insisted on answering himself. Virgil was upstairs making Patton’s bed--for Janus--when he heard the knock. 

Like all the other knocks over the past two days, Virgil snuck to the landing to spy on who was at the door. This time, he wasn’t disappointed. 

Or, he was, but not in the usual way. It was indeed Roman, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. 

‘Patton’ cheered when he opened the door and greeted Roman enthusiastically. And Roman seemed to recognize that Patton looked like Virgil. So much for the illusion helping. Still, it was evident that the Patton persona didn’t act anything like Virgil. 

‘Patton’ dragged Roman to the living room, sitting him down on the couch. Janus, to his credit, seemed to cool it a bit when he noticed Roman’s reluctance, probably remembering who Roman was used to was  _ Virgil _ , not Patton. To Virgil’s disappointment, Roman looked a bit more comfortable at this. 

It was a grand endeavor: ‘Patton’ showing his soulmark, proving that he was indeed who he said he was, Roman lighting up, bringing Janus in for a joyful embrace. Virgil tried not to let jealousy crash through him, remembering this was not what Roman thought, that none of this was real. 

Virgil shouldn’t care. The ball had been reminder enough that he couldn’t win--that the only way to get out of this game was to take his brother and run when he could. 

So Virgil went back to his chores. Not for the last time. 

Roman and ‘Patton’ started going on dates. Usually, they’d go out somewhere--to a restaurant in town, for a picnic in the palace gardens. But, sometimes, they would stay there. In Virgil’s house. And those were the times Virgil wanted to scream the most. 

“That was such a cheesy line,” Janus said about the movie he and Roman were watching. 

“But it was  _ romantic _ ,” Roman whined. 

Virgil was listening from the landing again. God, he had to stop doing that. 

“No, it wasn’t,” Janus replied. There was a shout and a laugh.

“Hey, my hair!” Roman exclaimed. Patton’s sugar-sweet laugh flowed up the stairway. It might have made Virgil miss his brother if not for the way it was used. 

“Too slow!” Janus said, still laughing in that voice. 

“I don’t want to get your living room messy,” Roman protested. 

“I can clean it later,” Janus said. 

Virgil fought not to groan as he turned away. Whatever mess was down there, he’d be cleaning it later. 

Sure enough, there was a lot of popcorn to sweep when Virgil finally went down, Roman and Janus off to do their next thing. 

They had lots of movie nights, with pillow forts and popcorn fights. They also had lots of cooking disasters, leaving the kitchen covered in flour and smelling of burned food. Virgil refused to admit how cute it all was, especially since he had to clean it all. 

Not for lack of Roman trying either. And, damn, Virgil kind of wished Roman would just be a jerk, make it easier to hate him. 

“Pat, I want to help clean this before I go. Just because I’m a prince doesn’t mean I can’t clean my own messes.”

“And I said I’ve got it,” Janus insisted. “It’s really not a big deal. Cleaning is actually very therapeutic.”

Like hell it was. 

“Then let me! I would like to partake in something that makes you happy,” Roman said. Virgil’s heart swelled and vomit rose in his throat. An interesting combination. 

That night, much to Virgil’s delight, Janus and Roman cleaned. For every mess following, however, Janus had some clever excuse to make Roman leave before the cleaning.

Perhaps this was Virgil’s actual punishment for disobeying. A sisyphean nightmare of cleaning.

But if there was an upside to all the cleaning, it came in the form of a knock at the door one day when Virgil was downstairs for once wiping down counters of flour and oil. The messes had been tamer since Janus started tricking Roman to leave it, but, even if Roman was trying to stay neat, Janus was not.

When he heard the knock, Virgil suspected the mailman or one of the neighbors. What he did not expect was the crown freaking prince. 

Virgil stood rooted to the spot, staring wide-eyed up at the man. Roman blinked, taking him in before giving one of his dazzling, diplomatic smiles. 

“You must be Patton’s brother, Virgil,” he said. Virgil’s throat started to close up. He couldn’t move. Was his sleeve down? “I believe we met briefly at the ball,” Roman continued, sticking a hand out. “How are you?”

Met at the ball? What was that supposed to mean? No, as far as Roman knew, they hadn't met at the ball. Virgil wasn’t at the ball. He was here, being a good brother and waiting for ‘Patton’ to get back with the good news of his soulmate. Or the better news of a dead prince. 

When the silence stretched on for too long, Roman retracted his hand, scratched the back of his neck. It reminded Virgil of the first time they’d met. “Look,” he said. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. You were pretty urgent to get Patton out of there at the ball, and you were probably a little freaked about the dude holding on to his hand like a lifeline.” Roman laughed. For once, the sound left Virgil emptier. “So, hi, my name is Roman. Prince Roman, but you don’t need to call me prince. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Slowly, the pieces slotted together. At the ball--when Janus had interrupted, whispered into his ear. Roman  _ had  _ seen both of them there. How did Virgil forget that? 

“O-Oh right,” he said. “Nice to formally meet you.”

Roman smiled, and it was something friendlier than the diplomatic one. It still wasn’t the same as the ball. How was it possible to go from telling each other stories of their childhoods to strangers this quickly?

Probably the same way it’d taken all of five minutes to decide he’d do everything to keep Roman safe.

That had fallen apart just as quickly, Virgil supposed. As much as his heart still drew him toward the man, Virgil knew he could not save him. It was Roman or Patton, and Virgil could not give up on his brother. 

“Are you looking for Patton? He went into town,” Virgil said, hoping to get rid of Roman quickly. He had too much cleaning to deal with all this heartache. Yet, Roman proved fully capable of tugging on every last heartstring with one disappointed look. 

“Oh,” he said, but shook himself, trying to play it off cool. “That’s fine. I just forgot something.”

What a freaking romantic. Virgil bet as soon as he’d noticed whatever he’d forgotten Roman had perked up at the chance to see Patton again. Or maybe he’d even left it behind on purpose. How sickeningly cute. 

“Come on in then,” Virgil said, regretting life. God, getting rid of Roman wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought. 

At least he could ignore the man until he found his missing thing. Virgil trekked back to the kitchen, picking up his disgusting cloth. He went to wash it in the sink. 

Roman followed in after. At first, he looked around, locating his item--whatever it was--but then he seemed to zone in on Virgil. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. He actually seemed curious, not just looking for small talk, so Virgil shrugged and answered. 

“Cleaning.”

“Cleaning our mess?” Roman asked.  _ Oh _ , Virgil realised.  _ That’s why he asked _ .

“Someone’s gotta,” Virgil answered, now ready for the conversation to be over ASAP. He bent over the counter, scrubbing at it with an intensity it didn’t need.

Roman was silent for a moment. Virgil sighed. 

“Patton had to go to town,” he said, and Virgil wasn’t sure why at all. To ease Roman’s conscience? “I offered to help. Don’t worry about it.”

“But… still,” Roman said, looking worried. “It’s our mess.”

“No big deal, dude.” Weird. All this time, Virgil had been making it out to be a big deal. And, yeah, when he thought about it with Janus, it  _ was _ . But, with Roman?

It was the truth. Virgil actually didn’t mind when he was helping Roman. 

“Let me help,” Roman said, already stepping forward. Virgil shook his head, but Roman continued past him to the drawer of cloths. He wet one and set to work without a word. Meanwhile, Virgil just stared. 

_ Who is this man? _ one half of his mind wondered.

_ If Janus sees this, he’s going to kill me _ , the other half said. 

“Hey,” Virgil said, awkward, uncertain. How does one order around the crown prince?

He thought back to the ball, to how comfortable with each other they were. Virgil hadn’t thought twice of saying what was on his mind. 

Roman hummed in question, his focus on the counter. Virgil stared for another second.

Then, “Thanks.”

And he went back to work. Roman scrubbed the counters, and Virgil tossed his rag into the sink, instead turning to put away the unused ingredients. After, he went to grab the broom and found Roman already with it, humming under his breath.

For a second, Virgil couldn’t move, taken by the sight. Roman looked up, offering a pleasant smile. 

This was different to the ball. No milling crowds or dim lights, no formal attire or mingling assassinations. Just a bright kitchen, t-shirts and jeans, alone and almost, kind of, safe. 

Roman was just as bright, yet he stood in an entirely different light. A prince, kind enough to ask after strangers; a man, humble enough to help clean Virgil’s kitchen. 

Janus didn’t find out, but something else happened that day. Something scarier. 

Scarlet buds grew along the vines on his hand. 

-/-

“Here for Patton?” Virgil asked when he opened the door. He really hadn’t wanted to answer it, but Janus was still upstairs and like hell would he approve of keeping a prince waiting, even one he was going to kill. 

Roman seemed to preen at the name of his beloved, smoothing out the front of his jacket. “I am indeed!” he exclaimed dramatically. 

“He’s getting ready,” Virgil said, resigned to his fate. Was this another punishment tactic of Janus’? If so, clever. Extremely clever. “Wanna wait in the living room?”

“I would be honored.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and led the prince to the living room. When he was seated, Virgil turned to walk away, but, alas, sir talks-a-lot reigned him back in. 

“And how are you today, my gloomy friend?”

“Gloomy?” Virgil asked, turning back to raise an inquisitive eyebrow. 

Roman nodded solemnly. “You cannot deny, Virgil, your aura.”

Virgil shrugged. Roman was right. He wasn’t going to admit it though. 

“What happened to your hand?” Roman asked, and Virgil froze. He knew what Roman meant, but he did not want to address it in the least. 

“Just a burn from the oven,” Virgil gestured to his soulmark bandaged hand, eyeing it uncomfortably. He’d been changing out the same bandages for weeks now, just in case Roman came over or someone in town recognized it. 

“It’s been like that for a while, hasn’t it? Has it not gotten any better?”

Virgil looked up, surprised. Roman had noticed it before?

Shit, looks like he’d need a new tactic soon. Or maybe Janus would just kill the guy and save him the trouble. 

A twisting feeling wound in his gut at the thought. Virgil decided to think of  _ anything  _ else. 

“Burns take a while, but it should be healed soon,” Virgil said. “What about you? How’s that parade coming?”

Roman’s eye lit up. “Oh, just marvelously,” he said, then went off to explain a crazy amount of detail about the event and float and scheduling and whatever else. 

Virgil was, of course, referring to the soulmate parade. It was a small endeavor, with the public festivities taking up most of the week. To show he had found his soulmate, he and ‘Patton’ would ride the float together. Virgil wondered if Janus was patient enough for something like that. On the one hand, he could kill Roman before and not have to deal with any of that. On the other, Janus had always been one to gloat. And as publicly as he could.

It was entertaining, though. To watch Roman talk about it all. Virgil didn’t understand half of what he was saying, but he fed off the enthusiasm, off of his soulmate’s happiness. 

Virgil’s gut clenched, the word suddenly hitting him full-force. He turned his head to hide his grimace. 

Roman was his soulmate.

It really was him. Virgil’s pattern had appeared at that ball. Roman’s vines had shown when they’d first touched. 

Virgil had found his soulmate, the person most waited their lives for and spent the rest of them hand-in-hand with. The person who was supposed to know your soul like their very own, supposed to learn to love you like no other. 

Virgil had found his once in a lifetime, and he wouldn’t get another.

And Virgil was going to let his soulmate die. 

Suddenly, Virgil didn’t feel so good. 

“Roman!” Janus exclaimed, rounding the bannister. “I’m so happy to see you!”

Virgil left up the stairs without even a goodbye. He shot straight to the bathroom, threw open the toilet seat, and let all of the sick out.

It was too much. It was all suddenly too much. 

It could happen at any time. Janus could be taking Roman to his death right then. He could kill Roman tonight and Virgil wouldn’t have a clue, wouldn’t have said goodbye, would never see his shining soulmate again. 

Virgil closed his eyes as his body shook.

And he couldn’t do anything--no. No, he  _ wouldn’t  _ do anything. This was a choice. Virgil had always known that.

And his choice was his brother.

Virgil’s choice would be to let Roman die.

He leaned his forehead against the porcelain seat, sweat breaking out on his brow. He counted his breaths. 

Virgil didn’t notice as the flower buds drooped on his arm. 

-/-

“Virgil!” a voice exclaimed from across the market square. When Virgil turned, his first thought was  _ Why? _

When Roman caught up to him, his lips pulled up contentedly. His smiles were growing easier day-by-day. They weren’t forced for the sake of playing nice with the boyfriend’s brother. They weren’t uneasy and unsure. They’d chatted quite a few times now--enough that, just yesterday, Virgil had goaded a genuine laugh from the man. The sound had been sweet to his ears.

Yet, there was still something off with their banter--something not quite how it was before. Now, they’d had weeks to get to know each other, even if it was always for short bouts, Janus ready to whisk Roman off as quickly as he could. Before, they’d had merely a night.

That night, though, Virgil hadn’t been walking the wire he was now. He was sure Roman could sense it. There was a different kind of reluctance to Virgil’s attitude. He didn’t trust himself around Roman--kept everything close to chest. Roman did the same.

He didn’t give Virgil the same smile as the one at the ball. It was kind, but one for a frequent acquaintance.

“Roman,” Virgil greeted, pulling his coat closer around him where he stood next to a store window. “Strange finding you here.”

“Strange?” Roman huffed. “I am a delight!” 

“Delightfully strange,” Virgil said, then faltered. That sounded uncomfortably close to a compliment. 

“I’ll take it,” Roman said, looking pleased. Damn it. “I, for one, am so glad to see you. I actually needed help with something. Do you have a moment?”

_ Virgil, say no! _ “Sure,” he said. Damn it again. 

“Great!” Roman exclaimed. “Come with me.”

With that, Roman took off into the crowd, and Virgil was left to follow. For a moment, Virgil thought of the ball, pushing through people to the edge of the room, until Roman stopped in the middle of the plaza and reached out a hand. 

“It’s crowded!” he said. “So we don’t get separated!” 

Virgil only took a moment to bite his lip before he grabbed the hand. For a moment, his palm felt alive. Not quite like the first time they’d touched, but similar--something traveling through the familiar pattern on his hand. Virgil decided to ignore it, and it looked like Roman was too caught up with weaving through the crowd to notice. 

Finally, they arrived at a flower shop. Virgil looked up in awe. 

To be quite honest, Virgil had never had enough money to even step foot in one. He’d always been afraid that as soon as he entered he’d be stuck with loitering and kicked out. 

“I want to get Patton flowers,” Roman breathed, and suddenly the moment was over. Virgil pursed his lips. “But I don’t know what kind he likes. I want them to be purple and red, but the flowers are still buds and I don’t know what they’ll be so…”

Virgil’s mind was hooked on one thing however. “Purple and red?” he asked. Roman’s face lit up.

“Yeah! Like our soulmarks,” he explained, then pushed back his sleeve to show. 

Virgil gasped--actually gasped--when he saw Roman’s mark in the light for the first time. 

It was beautiful. 

Sure, it was basically the same thing as Virgil’s but purple, but… there was so much more. The way it wound around Roman’s tan skin, the subtle muscle making the vines look stronger, more angular. 

Virgil was hit again and again and again with the thought:  _ this is my soulmate this is my soulmate this is my soulmate. _

“So I wanted something that would go with them, you know?” Roman asked, and Virgil forced his gaze away from his arm. He must have been blushing like crazy. 

Virgil nodded. “Yeah, that’d be pretty,” he said, feeling light-headed. 

“Want to help me look then?” Roman asked. Virgil nodded, and they walked around the store, pointing out different flowers that could work. There weren't a whole lot of red and purple combos to choose from, but Virgil was certainly having fun trying. 

“What’s it like,” Virgil found himself asking, relaxed enough to let his soul bare a bit. “Having a soulmate?”

“It’s,” Roman’s mouth curved, contentment etched plainly. “It’s nice.”

“Just nice?” Virgil wondered. 

“I suppose there’s just so much to learn about him. I, well, I thought I knew him so well after that first night, but he keeps contradicting everything I thought I knew. I guess that’s part of getting to actually know someone, right? Getting proven wrong?”

Virgil shifted, regretting his choice in asking. Of course Roman would notice the inconsistencies. 

“Yeah, it takes a while to understand a person.” Virgil shrugged, examining one of the flowers intently until he realized it was yellow. Not at all what they were looking for. 

“He-he does things that don’t make sense sometimes,” Roman said, doubt in his voice.

Virgil side-eyed him, interested. “What kind of things?”

Roman frowned at another patch of flowers. At least those were actually a color they were looking for: red. He shook his head. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

Virgil wondered if he should pry. What was it that Janus did that made Roman feel so uneasy? 

“I mean,” Roman spoke up again, and Virgil’s ears were keen on listening. “He says things. And I could have sworn he said the exact opposite before? And it’s not like he would lie to me--I don’t think Patton has a lying bone in his body--but, still, it’s…”

Virgil nodded. Patton wouldn’t lie, but they weren’t dealing with Patton. What could he say though?  _ Sorry, he’s not feeling well lately because Janus doesn’t actually know enough about my life to accurately lie about being the dude from the ball that first night.  _

Roman waved a hand, like it could clean the air of the doubt and lies. He put on a smile, perky and not all there. Virgil rubbed a thumb over his bandage.

“You know what? It’s not really anything to talk about anyway. Just a silly little thought of mine. I should trust Patton more,” he said. Roman stepped away from the flowers on his left and approached the ones to the right.

His head bent low over them, eyes not really seeing the hydrangeas at all. There were bunches of pastel purple and vibrant blue, but Roman wasn’t really looking at them at all. Virgil approached. 

“Your thoughts aren’t silly,” he mumbled, placing his hands on the hydrangea table. They stood side-to-side, but neither looked at the other. Roman kept his eyes on the flowers, Virgil on the window a row down. Virgil felt oddly at peace. For a moment. 

“What are you saying?” Roman asked, voice raspy.

_ I’m saying you should listen to your thoughts. You’re so smart; if you just open your eyes, look past all the soulmate tradition, the love at first sight and blind trust, you would see it too.  _

That’s what he wanted to say. What he would have said if he was a better man, someone ready to do right even at cost to themselves. But Virgil couldn’t do that. He couldn’t risk the safety of his brother. 

If only he could protect them both. If he could grab Roman, grab Patton, and run away. If he could somehow hold them and never let go, surround them in bubble wrap, in impenetrable armor. He’d be their shield himself. He’d take everything, every cut, every bruise. Virgil would be the punching bag if they could be the porcelain dolls, locked in a protective case. 

He wanted to turn now, hold Roman’s face in delicate, loving hands, and tell him to run, to go as far as he could before it was too late. Before he was gone, and the world lost one of its brightest lights, and Virgil lost a piece of his heart he had yet to understand. 

“Chin up, Princey. We’ve got flowers to find,” Virgil said instead, pushing off the table, taking another step down the aisle. He reached for some lavender, spinning it between his fingers and smelling the relaxing aroma. It did nothing for the tension in his bones. 

“What did you call me?” Roman asked. Virgil froze, clutching the lavender tight. He recounted his sentence back. 

“Um, Princey,” Virgil said, knowing there was no way to hide it now. He fought to keep his voice level at least. “That’s what Patton calls you, right?”

“Yeah…” Roman said, still looking at him strangely. “He hasn’t called me that in a while, though. Since the ball, actually. I thought he’d given up on it.”

“Oh,” Virgil said, waving a hand. “He says it all the time at home, though. Maybe he’s being shy or something.”

As if.

“I suppose…” Roman said, trailing off. Virgil put the lavender back, stepping forward to examine a new array of flowers. He couldn’t quite focus on them anymore. He was too distracted watching Roman, awaiting any sudden, disastrous light bulbs to go off. But none did. Roman followed down the aisle, his thoughts returning to the flowers. His fingers trailed along petals, and, every now and again, he would look to Virgil.

Virgil wasn’t sure if it was for the flowers or still about the nickname. He decided to assume they’d forgotten the nickname. 

At last, they came to the last row. Perhaps the largest selection, but also the most expensive. 

“Roses are classic,” Virgil suggested. He went over and plucked a nice red one out of the bin it was nestled, taking a long sniff. It was strong, but it was pleasant. When he turned, he found Roman with a purple one in hand. He reached out, offering the rose to Virgil. 

“Let’s see how they work together,” Roman said. Carefully, like he was being offered something thin and glass, Virgil took it, staring in awe. Then, he put the two roses side-by-side. “Beautiful,” Roman said. 

“Yeah,” Virgil whispered, taken in by the moment. “They sort of are.”

Virgil wasn’t in the habit of looking at his vines anymore. He’d taken to changing the bandages while staring at a wall, heart in his throat. If he was, however, he might have noticed how they’d grown into beautiful roses of their own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting! I was going to post it either Thursday or Friday, but then I remembered today is Virgil's birthday. I thought it'd be nice to contribute something to it :D So Happy Birthday to my main man. 
> 
> Thank you so much to those of you who have left such kind comments! And thanks to everyone who's kudos or bookmarked as well! I'm a bit nervous about this fic bc it's pretty low effort, but you guys have been so nice and I appreciate it so much <3


	4. red-handed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Descriptions of blood

Virgil was arm deep in soapy and murky water, the sink full to the brim and dishes soaking. His hoodie was chucked onto the kitchen table, and Virgil was left in his old purple tee, tears littering the collar and fabric loose on his frame. 

There had been another baking disaster in the kitchen that morning, courtesy of the lovebirds. As soon as their cookies came out of the oven, Janus had shuttled Roman out to do something in town. By now, Virgil was used to it and had gotten to work immediately. The quicker he did this, the quicker he could go take a nap. Janus had, after all, been too busy this morning to give him a to-do list. 

He'd already wiped down the counters, swept the floors, and put away spare ingredients. All there was left were the dishes, and Virgil was running on adrenaline to get them done. Man, did he wish Roman was there helping. 

Man, did he wish Roman was there at all. 

Virgil pulled a bowl from the sudsy water, eyes actively avoiding the red curves that wound their way around his arm. No more bandages, Virgil had decided after Roman revealed he'd noticed them. 

Now, Virgil had taken to wearing a pair of fingerless gloves. They hid most of the incriminating evidence–all of it as long as Virgil wore his hoodie and tugged up the fingers every now and again–and it fit his emo aesthetic well enough that no one bat an eye. 

He'd tried regular gloves, but Virgil was surprised to learn how difficult handling day-to-day activities were with them. They slipped on everything, made him clumsy like Virgil didn't know his own fingers. He couldn't hold a pencil, and the broom felt odd in his hands. Obviously, they didn't work on the touchpad of his phone. 

But, fingered or not, he couldn't use the gloves when he did the dishes, and that meant he was confronted every now and again by his soulmark. 

A soulmark that had grown since last he'd seen it–that bursted with rich red roses, that'd grown double the vines that twisted along his skin. 

Virgil, quite frankly, did not like looking at it. Every day guilt gnawed further into his soul, as if the red marked blood on his hands. Bent over the sink, he felt like Lady Macbeth scrubbing her nonexistent spot.

She hadn't done the killing either. She had stood in wait as Macbeth did the deed. 

Sure, Virgil hadn't convinced Janus to kill Roman. He wouldn't frame the guards, and he wasn't out for power. But, like Lady Macbeth, the part he did play would haunt him for the rest of his life. The guilt would eat him alive. 

And every time he looked at that one hand, marred in grown roses and baby thorns, he would instead see Roman's blood. 

He saw it now, dripping, staining fresh scarlett, aging to brown before his eyes. Then the kitchen door opened. 

In a blind panic, Virgil stuck his hands back under, fearing Janus' reaction if he saw the mark out in broad daylight. He hadn't seen it since the night of the ball, and he had made it explicitly clear that was how he wanted it to remain. 

One toe out of line, one peek of a red rose, and Patton would pay for it. 

His panic was warranted, but not for the reason he’d thought. 

"Virgil! Always cleaning, I see!" 

Virgil's heart thumped, once for his soulmate, solid and loud, gifting him a headrush for the troubles of his attraction. Then it thumped another, leaping up into his throat and lodging there, hand frozen under the lukewarm water, barely hidden from the one man he had to hide it from the most. 

His lips flapped a bit, trying to get his voice to work. What he eventually got out was a strangled and tightly polite, "Roman!" 

The prince, his smile crooked in that charming way of his, walked up next to Virgil, side leaning against the counter to his right. "I'm beginning to think cleaning is a hobby of yours." 

"A hobby," Virgil repeated, strained mirth in his tone. If he didn't get this rushing anxiety out of his system, he was eventually going to tip off Roman. He tried to breathe for a moment by picking up a cup from the soapy water. After looking at it for a second, he realized he couldn't clean it without taking his other hand out and promptly shoved it back down. 

"You do it so much, and it's not like Patton doesn't help," Roman explained. Ha, right. It's definitely not like 'Patton' doesn't help. Virgil rolled his eyes, and Roman's brows furrowed. Then his eyes widened. "Wait, you don't have some sort of mysophobia, do you? I didn't mean to offend–I'm sincerely sorry-"

"No, no, Princey," Virgil waved the one hand he could, cutting him off. "It's all good. Seriously." 

“Well, can I maybe dry to make it up to you?” Roman offered, already picking a rag out from a nearby drawer. Virgil supposed that showed how often he and Janus trashed the kitchen–Roman knew where everything was. Virgil would have laughed if he wasn’t so focused on shutting this down.

“I said it’s okay, Roman. You didn’t offend me. I just like doing chores,” he explained, and remembered when Janus had said cleaning was “therapeutic.” Yikes, was Virgil really resorting to that of all things? 

“Just like your brother,” Roman said, shaking his head good-naturedly. “Too polite for your own good. Never fear though, as I must insist. Unless… you would prefer drying?”

Virgil struggled not to gasp, terror coursing through him at the thought. He shook his head. No. Nope. Nothing Roman could do would get Virgil’s hands out of this water. “I’m good.”

“Then it’s settled.”

Virgil froze, eyes darting down to the water. He tried to remember how to breathe. “Wh-” he took a slow breath in, steadied himself. “Where is Patton anyway?” he asked, attempting to keep his voice light. 

“Oh, we just got back from the park, and I invited him over to the palace. He said he wanted to do his makeup before going anywhere so fancy. I  _ tried  _ telling him the palace really isn’t that fancy, but he insisted,” Roman said, rolling his eyes fondly. Virgil tried to shove his own fond thoughts down at hearing Roman say a  _ palace  _ wasn’t fancy.

“He takes forever with his makeup,” he muttered instead. Roman nodded.

“He does indeed,” he agreed. “Which is why I have plenty of time to help. Now, those dishes?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fucking- 

“Right,” Virgil replied. He grabbed a plate from the bottom of the sink, soaked within an inch of its life by that point. Carefully, Virgil maneuvered his hands so that the incriminating one lay behind it, and he pulled it up. For a second, he forgot what he was supposed to do. 

His eyes darted to the sponge laying by the faucet. Quickly, he balanced the plate on the soulmarked one and reached for it. Then, sponge in hand, Virgil set to work cleaning the dish. 

It was awkward work, hiding one hand while he shifted the plate around to lather it up, but he eventually got the hang of it. When he passed it off to Roman, he grabbed the plate with his blank hand and subtly dipped his soulmarked one back into the sink. 

Smaller dishes would be more difficult, but Virgil was hoping he could go really slow on the bigger ones, and Janus would come retrieve Roman before things got too bad. Should be… fine.

He started scrubbing the bowl he’d set down. Roman started to talk. 

“So, what do you like to do?” he asked. Virgil jumped a little since his concentration had been entirely on dishes for the past five minutes. He should have known Roman couldn’t last too long without speaking though. 

Again, Virgil thought back to the ball and that brief reprieve of silence between them. Neither of them had seemed uncomfortable or seen it as something they needed to break. In a moment they had simply just been. Just people. Just alone in a crowd. 

Virgil couldn’t remember the last time he’d just been a person like that–so divorced from the world, so at peace. Everyday there was a bed to make, dishes to be done, floors to sweep, errands to run. Even in the dead of night, his worries haunted him and kept him up. Memories of Patton and his father, regrets, fears. 

So what  _ did  _ Virgil like to do? When was the last time he’d done something for himself? 

“I listen to music,” he said. It calmed him down. Sometimes, it was the only thing to distract him from his thoughts. It made his day-after-day okay just a little bit, to be able to slide some earbuds in before he set to work. 

“Hm?” Roman asked. “Like what?” 

Virgil rinsed the bowl. “Like you can’t guess.” 

“I want to hear you say it. Confirm my darkest fears about you, you emo nightmare,” Roman teased. 

“Yeah, no. I’m not here to give you more ammunition,” Virgil elbowed him and lifted the bowl. Roman reached for it, and Virgil nearly dropped it in his rush to shove the soulmarked hand away. Roman simply raised an eyebrow at his flailing. 

Virgil stuck out his tongue, but on the inside his brain felt on fire. He was almost caught red-handed there.

He let out a nervous burst of laughter with the pent up energy he had.  _ Red-handed. Patton would like that one. _

“Okay, okay, I won’t make fun of you,” Roman conceded. Virgil lifted his head, aware they still had a conversation going on. “Come on, I want to hear it from you. It’s always better to hear someone talk about their own passions.” 

Virgil eyed Roman distrustfully. In the end, however, he shrugged and decided to go for it. 

This was his soulmate, after all. And, at the end of the day, he knew Roman wasn’t a complete jerk. 

“MCR, Fall Out Boy, Evanescence, Paramore. You know, the good stuff,” Virgil said. 

Roman nodded. “Hayley Williams is a goddess.”

“ _ You _ listen to Paramore?”

“Oh, come on. Everyone has an emo phase,” Roman said, and Virgil was already reeling–this time from something good. 

“You’re telling me that our fucking  _ prince  _ had an  _ emo phase _ ? I don’t believe you. Prove it.” 

“I am not giving you  _ proof _ . You’d use it as blackmail!” Roman refuted. 

“So?” 

“Virgil!”

“What? People will think I photoshopped it anyway. I’ve definitely seen you photoshopped as emo before–like one of those emo edits of Disney princesses.”

“You’ve seen  _ what _ ?!”

“‘Internet is a scary place, my dude. Anyway, you were just about to show me proof?”

“No, I wasn’t!” Roman exclaimed. 

“Damn. Thought that’d work,” Virgil snapped his good hand, sending water across the kitchen. Roman crossed his arms, towel tucked under one now. 

“Can’t you just take my word for it?”

“I suppose if I have to,” Virgil sighed, as if it was some big chore. In actuality, he knew he trusted Roman. He tried to tell himself it was because Roman definitely wasn’t the kind of guy to admit to an emo phase lightly, but he knew, deeper down in a place he refused to acknowledge, it was something more. 

“So what is it about those bands?” Roman asked. Virgil looked over, surprised they hadn’t dropped the subject already. 

“I don’t know. I guess they just came at the right time. And I haven’t stopped listening to them since,” he said. He’d been listening to this stuff since middle school. School had been tough, but home was still great–with his dad and his brother. He’d definitely spiralled a bit into obsessive listening when everything had gone to shit though. “I was usually tired on long bus rides home, so Patton talked to other people while I dozed. He always insisted on sitting next to me though.” Virgil smiled down at his reflection, not quite seeing it in his recollection. “He was always there for me. Sometimes, on days he was tired too, we’d share earbuds, and I’d show him the album I was currently hooked on.” 

“That sounds nice,” Roman said. He was using that same voice he did when he talked about Patton. But… why?

Virgil looked up, searching his face. He didn’t realize Roman had grown closer, drawn in by the story. They were practically shoulder-to-shoulder. 

He drew in a quiet breath, a subtle swallow. Roman’s soft smile was incredibly beautiful. 

“It was,” Virgil whispered and looked away. He put all of his focus into his words, trying to forget who was beside him. “One time, I was mad at him. I can’t even remember why–some stupid sibling thing. He asked to use an earbud that day, and, god, I should have seen that as a sign that he was just tired, and I should get over myself. But I wanted to be petty, and I played the loudest song I had on repeat for the entire hour-long drive. Patton didn’t move once. He didn’t complain or take out the earbud. At the end of the drive, I could tell he had a headache, but he just said he really liked the song.”

Virgil’s heart ached. Oh, he missed his brother. Why hadn’t he appreciated him more when he was there? 

This had been a year before their father died. Just a year, and Patton would have been replaced with Janus. 

“He knew how much my music meant to me, and he didn’t want to hurt my feelings.” 

“We all do petty stuff when it comes to siblings, and from what it sounds like, Patton didn’t take it personally. Did you apologize for it?”

“Eventually,” Virgil said. “I felt really bad after and locked myself in my room to stew in that guilt. I realized Patton deserved an explanation when my head cleared a bit.” 

“Sometimes we need that time. Nothing wrong with that,” Roman said. His reassurance was so natural. Virgil was kind of jealous. 

But also… grateful. Roman’s words stuck to his heart, and Virgil tried not to take it personally–Roman would surely do this for anyone. But today he was doing it for Virgil, and that meant the world. 

“It takes a lot of courage to do what you did,” Roman continued, and, confused, Virgil stopped to listen. “When it’s something that small, it can be easy to push it under the rug. Even if it took some time–which everyone needs anyway–you did the right thing and talked to Patton about it.”

“Oh, um, not really,” Virgil denied, cheeks turning red. “Patton’s really forgiving. I knew it’d be okay.” Mostly. His anxiety had made him second-guess, but he knew Patton would never disown him or anything. 

“Hey,” Roman said, and Virgil looked up, again aware of how close they were. Roman placed a hand on his shoulder, and Virgil nearly fainted. “You did good.” 

And like that, centimeters apart, heads angled in with each other, Roman’s eyes growing softer and Virgil’s lips parting, was how Janus walked in on them. 

The kitchen door slammed open, the man making his grand appearance in blue and yellow eyeshadow–which, damn, looked gorgeous. Immediately, his eyes zoned in on them. 

Virgil jumped away, hands jolting out of the sink momentarily before he nearly screamed and hid them again. Roman too looked a bit flushed, eyes darting down and backing away. Janus beelined for him and took his hands. 

“Hello, darling! Ready to go?” he asked, obviously pretending he hadn’t seen a thing. Roman smiled at him, something that wasn’t entirely there.

“Of course. You look lovely, darling.” 

“Why, thank you!” Janus exclaimed, already pulling Roman out of the kitchen. “Thank you for doing the dishes, Virgil,” he said as he ushered Roman out. He threw Virgil a glare, but didn’t spare a moment more than that. After they were gone, Virgil sagged in relief. 

He lifted his hands from the water, noting how briny and wrinkly they’d become in their extended stay. Sighing, he grabbed the rag Roman had left on the counter in his rush and dried them. While he still had many dishes to go, he thought he deserved a break, so he set over to the living room. Just five minutes–then he could finish this and go take that nap. 

When he approached the door, however, he heard voices beyond it. In their rush to get out, Virgil had assumed they had already left for the palace. 

He dared to move closer, curious about what they were saying. 

“Nothing happened. He was telling me a story,” Roman whispered, his voice gentle and pleading. 

Janus, surprisingly, sounded pretty understanding. Virgil supposed getting into an actual couples’ dispute wasn’t important enough for his plan. “I’m not worried, darling.”

“I just thought I’d tell you,” Roman said. “I didn’t want you to doubt what you saw.” 

Janus sighed. “I know you wouldn’t do anything, Roman. It’s Virgil I worry about. He’s always been jealous of me.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. Roman’s voice came hesitant. “...jealous?” 

“Not in a bad way. He’d never try to deliberately sabotage me–I don’t think.” That addition came like an afterthought, but it was still there. It felt like hot lead burned in his gut. “Just in the way that… well, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s developed some little crush on you.” 

“A… crush?” Roman’s voice sounded small, and Virgil felt like melting under the floorboards. 

“Yes,” Janus carried on. “But I don’t think you have much to worry about. You hardly talk to Virgil anyway, right?”

“I mean, sometimes,” Roman said. Virgil wasn’t sure who he was defending–Virgil or himself–or why he was even doing it. Just agree with Janus and move on if Virgil was so revolting. 

The way he had said “crush”–like Roman couldn’t believe it, like it was a concept from another world. It humiliated Virgil. 

“Well, you know now,” Janus said. “Do with it what you will. He really is harmless.”

Like a bug under his foot. Virgil wasn’t a threat. He was nothing more than the housemaid and his cover story. Janus was the one in charge, the one in control. 

But Janus didn’t say things for the sake of saying them. If Virgil truly was harmless, he wouldn’t have even mentioned it. 

He wanted Roman to stay away from him. 

“Now let’s go have tea,” Janus said. Virgil stayed at the door until he heard the sound of the front door click shut. Then he reached out to make his way into the living room. 

His eyes caught on the hand before him. Red. Always red. A soulmate who didn’t even want him would live on his skin forever. 

Instead, Virgil sat down on the floor and leaned his head against that door. 

What had his life become? 

-/-

Despite everything, Virgil continued to listen in on the landing. If Roman was over for a movie or to ruin the kitchen, or simply just to pick up Janus, barely setting foot in the house, Virgil was there to hear any drop of his voice he could. 

He refused to admit he was listening out for  _ Roman _ , of course. He was concerned–that was all. Looking for any sign of what Janus might do that day. Was it another day of getting closer to Roman, gaining his trust? Was it a day for getting the prince away from the public and the guards and the castle? 

Virgil’s heart couldn’t take whatever was buried deep inside of it–whatever it was that made Virgil seek out Roman, that rubbed at his hand when deep in thought, that recounted stories the prince had told him at the ball, close to each other in the dim light. 

Close like they had been at that sink. But, no, not at all. At that sink, Virgil didn’t live the same life as a soon-to-be soulmate dashing into a ball to rescue a prince. Here, he was just Virgil. 

And Roman wasn’t in love with Virgil. He was in love with his “soulmate.” 

So Virgil tried not to latch onto the way Roman smiled at him, insisted on conversation while he waited for Janus or found openings to help Virgil tidy up. Since Janus had given him that “warning,” he had been a lot more cautious around Virgil, yet he didn’t stop being friendly. He didn’t stop being kind. 

Virgil didn’t dare think how good a man he was, how Roman could be a wonderful ruler one day if not for his fixed fate, or how lucky a guy like him could be to be Roman’s soulmate. 

“Couldn’t be too lucky,” Virgil would murmur to himself whenever he caught himself thinking it. “Your soulmate’s gonna die.”

More than anything, Virgil refused to focus on the way his heart clenched at that thought. He had accepted long ago, once before he’d met Roman, another after he’d gotten to know the guy, known that he would let him die. One soulmate had to be worth years of servitude and fear, had to be worth getting his brother back. 

But Virgil couldn’t shake the pain that shot through him in those moments, the dull thrum that stayed with him throughout his days, knowing Roman was in danger, knowing, one of the days, Virgil would never see him again.

Never see that smile, eyes glinting with a tease or that soft look–growing closer by the day to how Virgil remembered it from the ball. Never hear that voice, words lively and bickering and bantering. Never have a soulmate again. Never see  _ Roman _ again. 

Roman, who was the reason Virgil never slept anymore, filled with worry, longing, fear. Frustration–why couldn't he just let Roman go? Confusion–how had Roman wormed his way into his heart this quickly? Anger–why should he care so much for a soulmate who didn’t care for him? 

Paranoia–would this be the final time Virgil saw Roman? Every day, Virgil let him go when he watched Roman and Janus walk out the door. Every day, Virgil held on tighter when Roman showed up again, bright and alive. 

Paranoia was in Virgil’s blood, so the next time Janus was up early, Virgil had to know why.

The thing was, how could he ask if today was the day Janus would kill Roman?

“Good morning,” Virgil said, already out of the norm for him, but this whole thing was out of the norm. 

Janus looked up from his toast. Once again, there was jelly on his cheek. Again, Virgil didn’t tell him about it. 

“I suppose it is good, isn’t it?” he said. Virgil felt a chill go up his spine. 

“Got anything planned today then?” Virgil asked. “Another date with Roman?”

“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”

Virgil frowned. “What gives? You were fine telling me last time when you were going to do it.”

“Yes, and that was before you disobeyed me  _ and  _ found out the target is your soulmate,” Janus said. “Roman will die when I decide he will die. Don’t ask again, or perhaps you will… rush me.”

At those last two words, Janus made deliberate eye contact with Virgil. Virgil swallowed heavily and went back to sipping his coffee. 

As soon as Janus left the house, however, Virgil sprung into action. He dumped his coffee and ran up to his room for clean clothes.

Today was no normal day. If Janus wasn’t killing Roman, Virgil would be surprised. 

Though, what he could do about that eluded him. 

He frowned, looking at his arms tangled in the sleeves of a clean shirt. “You’re not doing anything,” he told himself. “You can’t.”

He put on the shirt anyway. And pants and socks and shoes. When he walked out the door, he locked it behind him, knowing he’d be out all day. 

“You’re just going to see what’s going on,” Virgil told himself. “ _ Not _ stopping it.” 

Did he want to say goodbye to Roman? Would that be suspicious? Would he have time? Could he find Roman before he and Janus met up? No, they would already be together by this point. 

Virgil wove through the town, ducking around preparations for the parade. It was supposed to happen tomorrow, but it looked as though Janus had no desire to ride that float. Virgil couldn’t blame him. The thought made him want to puke from nerves alone. 

There were stalls of toys and candies, and the streets were lined in streamers and flowers. Virgil was thankful to see that none were roses, and the red and purple theme hadn’t made it. Perhaps that was something Roman wanted to keep between them.

Between him and ‘Patton,’ that is. Not Virgil. Virgil wasn’t his soulmate. 

Virgil didn’t know where he was going, really. He had no clue where Roman and Janus might have gone for the day. So he wound about the town, looking into shops and among the faces of excited citizens, readying for the day of festivity. He checked all those stereotypical romantic places–the florist, the bakery, the fountain–since that seemed to be the exact kind of thing Roman would be into. 

He was debating his chances of getting into the palace when out of the corner of his eye, Virgil saw a flash of blue light. He turned towards the source, spotting a second-hand clothing shop, window full to the brim with fabrics and hats and bags. At the entrance to the store, it looked like someone had thrown a mass of glitter, probably meant for the next day. 

But there was no one around who could have thrown it. And where had that light come from? 

Virgil approached, sensing a familiar aura of deja vu. With the sparkling mess at his feet, Virgil’s suspicions rose. 

He walked into the store, looking from his left to his right. It was just as packed with clothing as the window was, hangers stuffed along clothing racks in row upon row of indiscernible organization. Virgil would rather eat a box of nails than find anything in there. 

But, hopefully, what he was finding wasn’t as difficult as clothing. He chose an aisle and walked, still looking around for a familiar head. There was nothing, no one, until Virgil got to the end of the row. 

To his right, a line of doors and cubby-like rooms took up a corner of the store. Under the door to one, the same glowing blue light as before shone out. 

Virgil marched right up to it and knocked. The door opened immediately, showing the face of none other than his fairy godparent. 

“Virgil,” Logan greeted. “You’ve finally arrived.”

“Logan, what the fuck?”

Logan stood back, scanning the area around them and beckoning him in. “Please, let us discuss in here.”

“Sure,” Virgil mumbled, ducking into the space. “Like life couldn’t get any weirder.”

“Your life is vastly out of the norm, though,” Logan commented as they shut the door. Virgil shook his head. 

“What do you want?”

“I’m back to help,” they said, as if the answer was obvious. Honestly, that’s what Virgil had been afraid they’d say. “You still wish to save your prince.”

“Yeah? And that went  _ so well _ last time,” Virgil said, planting his hands on his hips. The space was tight, and his elbows touched the walls, but the discomfort was worth it.

“No…” Logan said, eyes puzzled. “I am confused. Are we referring to the same thing?”

“It’s sarcasm,” Virgil said, shaking his head. “I mean,  _ yeah _ . It went  _ horribly _ . So I’m  _ not trying again _ .”

“But if you give up, the prince will die,” Logan reminded him. Like Virgil needed reminding. “That is not what you want, surely. Giving up after one failure is hardly a logical decision. Think of all the failures this world has had to go through to advance as far as it has.”

“I  _ can’t  _ fail though,” Virgil said. “I do anything and my brother could die. It’s easy to fail when you have nothing on the line, isn’t it? No skin off  _ your  _ back when your stupid illusion magic failed.” 

Logan looked stunned at that. For once, the fairy seemed lost for words. 

Virgil turned away, frustration ready to bolt out the door. He stopped, however, when Logan finally spoke up.

“You’re right.”

Virgil looked at the door then looked back. Logan was staring at the floor, a dark expression coloring their features. 

“What?” Virgil asked. Logan looked up, eyes full of sincerity. 

“You are right,” they repeated. “I failed you. And you deserve an apology for that.”

Virgil blinked, turned back. He wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. 

So Logan continued. “I’m sorry, Virgil. I am meant to be your godparent, to guide you through the trials the world throws at you, yet all I have been doing is pushing you. I let my own insecurities about my capabilities for this job get the better of me and I… I failed. At concealing you from not only Janus but Roman as well. I should have ensured Janus could not see past the magic nor take it away.” 

Logan took another deep breath in, eyes dimmer than their usual glow.

“I cost you much through my mistakes, and I am sorry for that.”

Virgil was stunned. He couldn’t speak and couldn’t move. Some otherworldly being had just apologized to him. No, not just apologized–sincerely apologized, laid themself bare to scrutiny from a mortal because they recognized they had done wrong. 

He stuttered out a small, nervous response. “That’s- that’s okay. Um…” Virgil took a deep breath in. If Logan could be sincere, then Virgil could too. “Thank you. And I’m sorry too–for yelling at you. That was uncalled for.”

Logan nodded. “All forgiven,” they said. They stood and looked at each other for a moment before Logan offered a smile. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Virgil asked. He hadn’t even done anything. 

“For your forgiveness. And for helping me to help you.”

“Even if helping me is by letting the prince die?” Virgil asked–a rhetorical question. He knew the answer–or so he thought.

“Yes,” Logan said, surprising him. “While I do not agree with it, I am here to help you. I thought by pushing you to be strong, to be brave, I was helping, but I see now that is a decision one must make for themself.”

Virgil looked at the floor of the dressing room. He stretched out the fingers of his left hand, glove flexing against his bones and skin. He never looked at it anymore. Virgil thought, maybe, if he didn’t look, it wasn’t there. 

But it was. It was a part of Virgil. He was Roman’s soulmate, not Patton, not Janus. And he was the only one who knew what Janus was going to do. He was the only one who could save Roman. 

“But… what about Patton?” Virgil asked, eyes still glued to the floor. He couldn’t just abandon his brother like that. 

“I think,” Logan said, placing a reassuring hand to Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil looked up, into sure blue eyes. “Perhaps, you should have more faith in your brother.”

“What?” Virgil croaked, so unsure–about everything now. 

“Patton is prepared to be brave,” Logan said, “If you are.” 

Virgil stepped forward, desperation in his eyes. He had not heard from Patton for years, not even through Janus. All he had to go on were Janus’ threats and a strong sense that his brother was still there, still alive. “You’ve talked to Patton?”

“Only briefly, but I know he has prepared himself. He is like you–afraid of what could happen to you if he were not to comply,” Logan said. Virgil clutched the fabric close to his heart, fought not to shake as much as these words bid him to. Patton had always been the better man. He would want Virgil to save Roman. But Virgil was not so strong. 

Virgil nodded, looking back to the ground.

_ Have more faith in your brother. _

_ If you give up, the prince will die. _

_ That is a decision one must make for themself. _

But, maybe, he could do better. 

“Do you know where they went?” he asked, eyes back on Logan.

Logan smiled, something genuine, something proud. “I do indeed.” 

“Then take me to them,” he requested. He lifted his chin high, his eyes were clear, his mind made up. 

“I’m done just watching this all happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! Last week was busy, and I had planned to edit this yesterday. My back really acted up on me though, so it was hard to focus. Even though this is a chill fic for me, it still didn't seem right not to give it a proper read-through. 
> 
> And thank you for reading! Hopefully, I'll see you soon with the next chapter!


	5. split seconds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Fainting, Blood, Scars, Imprisonment, Death threats

_ “Listen to your heart. Listen to your head. Listen to your gut. Whatever it is, just listen to  _ yourself _ , Roman. Stop doubting yourself.” _

-/-

When they exited the shop, Logan was able to fly them out of town and into the forest. Virgil didn’t want to know what all the people in town saw when they shot into the sky, figuring he’d have to deal with that later, so he focused on the task at hand. As they touched down, Virgil took a look around, already looking for the path to find Janus and Roman.

“They are not too far off,” Logan said, letting go of his arm. “I thought it better to land where we did not scare them.”

“Good idea,” Virgil said, still looking about. His nerves were wired, ready to spring into action. He wasn’t brave in a general sense, so he was ready to take advantage of this strength before he thought twice about it. 

“Before you confront them, I suggest you take this,” Logan said, and Virgil looked back to see them holding something in their hand. Virgil reached out, letting the small bottle fall into his own grip. “Splash it on Janus; it won’t hurt him, but it will help. Now, through there. That’s where you’ll find them.”

Virgil nodded, turning towards a copse of trees. Before he went, however, he paused. 

“Thank you, Logan,” Virgil said, looking back.

Logan gave a smile in return. “It was my pleasure.” 

Then in a blink of an eye, there was nothing but blue glitter left behind. Virgil smirked, then before he could think twice, he rushed through the trees. 

He was going blindly in the direction Logan had pointed, whipping past branches and thorny bushes. Surely this wasn’t the path Roman and Janus had taken, else they would have turned back. Virgil, however, couldn’t let himself be deterred. 

He raced, tugging when his sleeves caught on branches and ignoring when they scratched at his face. Eventually, the brambles ahead looked brighter, light spilling in from a wider, sunnier area. As Virgil slowed, he started to hear water and the sounds of laughter. He was in the right place. 

As he drew closer, he quieted, closing in on their location and pushing aside a branch to peak in. And, there, he saw them. Janus flicked an expert stone into the lake, and it skipped along perfectly, leaving perfect circular ripples in its wake. Roman threw one himself, but it sank. 

“How do you  _ do  _ that?” he asked, pouting. With Patton’s sweet smile, Janus beamed up at the prince.

“I could show you if you want,” he said. Roman blushed red. Virgil grew red for an entirely different reason, fists clenching at his sides. 

He stepped forward, pushed aside the brush to enter the clearing. 

“Stop,” he commanded. Both turned immediately, shock written on their faces. In a moment, they changed, Roman’s to confusion and Janus’--Janus’ turned to a subtle sort of rage. 

“Virgil, what on Earth are you doing here?” he asked in Patton’s chipper tone. When Roman looked between them, his anger dimmed, reduced to a slight glint in his eyes. Virgil could still see it burning bright, but it was smothered just enough that he wasn’t sure Roman would see. 

No matter. Janus wouldn’t be hiding anymore. 

“Doing what I should have done a long time ago,” Virgil replied, squaring his shoulders. “I won’t let you do this.” 

A stream of thoughts crossed Janus’ face, all too quick for Virgil to read. Eventually, he settled on something smug, a small pout morphing his lips. 

“Oh,” Janus said, and though their eyes were level in the few-feet distance, Virgil could feel him looking down on him. “Oh, my little brother.”

Something in Virgil roiled at hearing the pity. He scoffed. “Don’t call me that.”

“Um,” Roman spoke up, uncertain. “Is everything okay?”

“No-” Virgil said, but he was cut off when Janus turned to Roman, taking his hand. 

“I’m sorry you have to see this,” he said with wide doe-eyes. “He never was good at restraint.”

“Roman, don’t listen to him,” Virgil said, but Janus was the star of this show. He had the floor, and Roman was willing to listen. 

Janus, still holding Roman’s hands, looked over his shoulder at Virgil. “Jealousy isn’t a becoming look on you.” 

Finally catching on, Virgil’s eyes widened. “Wh-What?” he asked, maybe a bit too loudly. He fought not to go red, but it was too late. It'd always been so hard to hide his emotions, and his coffee that morning had been interrupted. 

“Look at him,” Janus said, pity still dripping like sap from his voice. “Smitten. Oh, Virgil…” 

“Shut up, that’s not what’s happening!” Virgil nearly yelled, and his thoughts had suddenly scrambled, taken over by his sudden embarrassment.  _ No. No, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. _ “Roman, listen to me. He’s lying-” 

“Virgil, why are you doing this?” Janus asked, Patton’s watery eyes blinking with crocodile tears. He looked so sad, so betrayed that Virgil had to take a step back. “I knew you liked him, but I didn’t realize you would do… this! We’re brothers! Don’t you want me to be happy?” 

“Stop that!” Virgil snapped, flustered and scrambling to take hold of the situation. “Stop it. You’re twisting it. You’re- you’re lying, like you always do! Roman-” 

Finally, letting his gaze rip away from Janus, he turned to Roman. And he saw the look on Roman’s face. 

Conflict. And shock. And, more than anything, pity.

Pity. Not like Janus’. This was real, and Virgil felt like dying under it.

Roman believed Janus. Of course he did. 

And he felt sorry for Virgil. 

Sorry for the poor boy who had leaned in just a bit too close, hands hidden in a soapy sink. Sorry for the little brother who had panic-dragged ‘Patton’ away from the ball at the sight of a prince. Sorry for the smitten guy he caught at times at the landing, holding back the truth, but why, Roman would never know. 

Virgil choked on his next words, just staring at the look. He couldn’t bring himself to move. He’d come to save his soulmate, but his soulmate didn’t believe him.

Still didn’t recognize him.

Roman never recognized him. They’d spent hours at the ball together, yet not once had Roman seen him. Really seen him. 

Outside that suit and the fairy magic, Virgil really was nothing. 

However had he ended up with a prince for a soulmate? How had he ended up with someone like Roman? 

It was just a split second, but Virgil had realized too much, and he almost wanted to go back. Back to his house where he just had to wait for Janus to win, to let his brother come home. Back to pretending Virgil didn’t have a soulmate. Back to pretending he didn’t have a choice.

But despite everything, he still wanted to help Roman. 

It took another of those split seconds to realize this too. It was a second Virgil should have used wiser.

Without him noticing, something grabbed his wrist. Virgil’s eyes went wide, and he stumbled, thoughts back to reality, gaze back to Janus. 

“Let go of me!” Virgil shouted. 

“You’re getting worked up again, Virge,” Janus said, softly, but deliberately loud enough that Roman could hear. Suddenly, Virgil’s vision glitched, flickering black for a second. Too many seconds he couldn’t afford. “You know what happens when you get worked up.” 

“What?” he asked, his own voice growing quieter. Too late he understood what was happening. He looked down at Janus’ hand, trying to rip his own away again. “Stop!” 

“Virgil, relax,” Janus said. There was a threat underneath it. A promise. “You’re going to faint if you keep it up.” 

Virgil had to look away from those eyes, the pity, the triumph, the glow of betrayal in his brother’s baby blues. Desperately, he turned back to Roman.

Roman, who still didn’t get it. Who still didn’t know him. Who still looked on in horror and pity. 

“Roman,” he tried. If only he could see. 

Roman knew something was up with Janus. He knew not everything was as it seemed. He had said so in the flower shop. 

If only he trusted himself. If only-

“Listen to yourself,” Virgil said. Roman’s brows furrowed, and all Virgil wanted was for him to understand. To hear him. To see him. 

His last plea. His last wish. His last hope. 

Virgil was gone for. After this, Janus would never let him live. 

But maybe Roman wasn’t a lost cause. 

“Stop doubting yourself,” he slurred. For a moment, a precious split second, Roman’s face changed.

Virgil couldn’t make it out. The blue sky was blending with the clouds, a smooth painting mixing into a bright day, until the night backdropped it all and blacked out his vision. 

And Virgil was out. 

-/-

Virgil blinked awake at the sound of a snap. Immediately, his vision was assaulted by a blinding light, and he had to turn his head to shield it. He reached up to cover his eyes which were slowly adjusting, but his hand was shaky. Getting his bearings, Virgil risked looking around and noticed the room was actually quite dim. The light itself only came in from an entrance across the room. And oddly above. 

As he blinked some more, Virgil understood. The light from outside was shining through an old wooden door at the top of a short stack of stairs. He was on the floor, and there were shelves nearby, stacked with piles of random stuff. He recognized this. Virgil hadn’t been there in a while, but he knew exactly where he was. 

“Oh please,” a condescending voice came from above, somewhere near the light. “Do take your time.”

Virgil looked up, trying to make out the shape that had stepped into the light. He was a silhouette framed by the cellar door, a shadow of someone Virgil had known for years and a body he’d rarely seen. Steely eyes and green scales shaped his face, long hair pulled tightly back but for a few loose strands. Janus remained in Patton’s clothes, but he didn’t wear Patton’s face. 

Virgil had rarely seen Janus out of disguise. It was frightening to see now. 

“Why are we here?” he asked. “Where is Roman?” 

Janus folded his arms, a firm look of agitation crossing his features. “I told Roman I would see him tomorrow at the festival because I had to bring you back. Thankfully, your little act of sabotage had no effect on our prince.” 

Virgil scrambled to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall. Whatever Janus had done to knock him out was dissipating, but not fast enough. Virgil was still weak. Still, he threw a defiant look in Janus’ direction. 

“You can’t kill him,” Virgil said. “Whatever the king did to you--Roman doesn’t deserve to suffer for it.” 

“Do I look like I care?” Janus asked, agitation turning more sour by the minute. “All I care for right now is the bug I can’t seem to squash. Who keeps getting in my way.” Janus stalked closer, bearing down on Virgil where he sagged. Virgil tried to stand straighter, meet Janus’ eyes in defiance, but it was impossible. “I gave you a chance. You were to just stay silent--that was all I asked. Now, Patton will pay for your mistakes.” 

Virgil’s blood froze in his veins, forming stalactites that punctured his blood stream. 

“Please,” he whispered. “Patton didn’t do anything.” 

“You always knew the consequences of your actions, Virgil,” Janus said, looking down on him. “But, no, you won’t get off so easily this time. Not only will I kill Patton; I will make him suffer; I will make sure he  _ knows  _ whose fault it is while he is slowly bleeding out on the floor. He will wonder how his brother could betray him so. He will wish for death, begging for the pain to stop, scared for his life, watching it drift away like a ghost in the night. He will  _ suffer _ .” 

“No,” Virgil said, shaking his head. He fell even heavier against the wall. “No.”

“And I will kill the prince. As he is bleeding out too, I will reveal who his true soulmate is. I will tell him that you laughed after the ball, that you told me to play with him as much as I liked because you couldn’t imagine being soulmates with such a pathetic, ignorant fool.” 

“Stop,” Virgil begged, sliding down the wall. His head was fuzzy, but he was awake enough to know that everything Janus said, he intended. 

Janus followed him down, crouching so that he was right above Virgil the whole time. His smile was nothing like Patton’s. It was sly and wicked, too pleased with himself and the pain he was causing to ever be like Patton. How long had it been since Virgil had seen a genuine Patton smile? Janus had never gotten it right, but after all these years, Virgil was afraid he no longer knew what the real one looked like. 

“You will be locked down here for it all, of course. Wouldn’t want to risk you trying anything again. And when the festival is over, when Roman is dead, Patton is dead, and the whole kingdom knows who did it, do you know who I will name as my accomplice?” 

Virgil couldn’t speak anymore. He had a pretty good idea who Janus might be talking about, however. 

Janus’ lips stretched. He looked like a viper ready to strike. “Why you, of course, Virgil,” he said. “Who else has helped me as much as you have?” 

Virgil shook his head. He couldn’t take this anymore. Please, no. Let this all be a bad dream. Let him wake up in his own bed. Let his chores be waiting. Let Patton be waiting. Let his dad be waiting. Let his early morning coffee be waiting. 

Janus stood back, straightened up. He looked so pleased it made Virgil want to throw up. He raised a hand, held it up in the light. Virgil recognized his own mark, red and bursting with flowers. He wasn’t sure how Janus had kept up with the flowers’ growth since he never looked at Virgil’s mark. Perhaps he had just been mirroring Roman’s. 

“You know, my first plan wasn’t all that phenomenal. Go to the ball, get Roman alone, stab him in the chest a little bit. No grandeur. Nothing special,” Janus said, still inspecting the hand. “But a parade? A murder before hundreds of people atop a grand float? I could have never pulled this off on my own.” 

Janus looked at him, placed his hand to his cheek and tilted his head. 

“I really have you to thank, Virgil. I never would have gained the trust of the prince without this,” he said, tapping his fingers against his cheek. The mark stood out against his skin. “So, when I kill the prince, I will make sure you get the recognition you deserve.” 

Virgil still couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. It felt like the world was collapsing on top of him. Like the house over this cellar--his house, no Janus’ house now--had caved in and trapped him down there. His eyes darted to the open door, considering his chances of getting out, getting help. 

But Janus was already making his way up them himself. 

“I hope you have a decent rest of your free life down here. I do not plan to get caught tomorrow, but I know you will,” he said. He climbed out of the cellar. Virgil gripped the wall, tried to get his feet to work. “Goodbye, Virgil.”

The cellar doors shut, the loud clacking of a lock put into place met his ears. Virgil crawled across the floor, up the steps. 

By the time he reached it, it was too late. 

The door was too sturdy to move, even if Virgil wasn’t weak beyond imagine. It was strong enough to protect from the worst storms. So Virgil could only hang to its handle in a loose, desperate grip, hunched over the stairs, forehead to the unforgiving wood that met metal. It was here that he felt the new pain, ripping into him unrelenting, as angry as he was at himself and Janus and the world. 

It reminded him of a soulmate--and for a split second Virgil didn’t know what he felt for Roman anymore. 

Was it hatred? Was it fear? 

Was it betrayal? Was it guilt? 

Was it hope--that Roman would be smart enough, would listen to himself and see past Janus’ charade? 

But it hurt, and it was hard to hope when you hurt. 

Virgil’s skin erupted in tears and scars, like a claw had wrapped around the flesh of his arm. He looked down at his soulmark in the dim light, and though he could barely see, the red was impossible to miss. 

Large, sharp thorns grew along the vines and left beads of blood sliding down his skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyyyyyyyyy good to see y'all :D. sorry for the wait but i haven't been doing much writing lately and been doing way too much sleeping lol. got this edited today despite the fact i should really be writing out a lesson plan lol. 
> 
> in other news, a couple weeks ago i realized how much i'm a sucker for cinderella stories when i saw one on Netflix and went "that looks horrible I have to click it." it was really bad and i don't regret a thing. 
> 
> hope you guys are doing well! thanks for reading!!


	6. I lived, bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Imprisonment, Apathy, Anxiety

Virgil tried to get out. He pushed on the cellar doors, rammed his body into them until the skin peeled back from his shoulder. He pounded on it, screamed for any of his neighbors to hear. His screams echoed through the room, bashing on his ears and making his voice hoarse. Aboveground, they were nothing but a muffled sound, and further from their backyard, they dissipated like dust. 

Eventually, he sunk to the steps below, the chilly stone seeping into his clothes and making him shiver. There he stayed until the miniscule light that crept through the cracks in the door faded away, leaving the cellar to darkness. 

He was helpless. More helpless than years under Janus’ bidding, making his brother’s bed day after day not for his brother to use.

He was alone. More alone than the day they took Patton away. More alone than standing under the gaze of a soulmate who didn’t see him. 

He was afraid. Not for himself. He would live and carry this truth in his heart as the world pointed fingers at him and let Janus get away with his lies. But Patton? But Roman? 

Virgil should have known his place. 

He never should have disobeyed. Why had he risked it? Now-  _ now- _

Virgil struggled to get his breathing under control. He wasn’t sure when, but he’d started to cry, heaving sobs that engulfed his body and drained all will to fight. Everything in him that had pounded his fists to the door sunk from his body and into the ground. 

He hadn’t cried since their father’s funeral. Not when Patton was taken away. Not when he faced years of punishment and threats and terror beyond belief. Virgil had refused to cry--Janus wouldn’t have his tears; Janus would not take any more from him. 

But, wasn’t that ironic? Janus was going to take everything from him. What were tears now compared to his brother, his soulmate, his freedom and his innocence? 

Virgil let all of it out now. The frustration. The anger. The despair. 

All these years--for nothing. Virgil had thrown it away for some guy he barely knew. 

“You idiot,” he scolded himself, sucking in a breath and letting it out again in another sob. He curled his fingers into a fist, frustrated with the tears, with himself, with the whole unfair fucking world. 

What kind of world left a man so desperate for money that his own sons had to pay it off with years of separation and trauma and fear? What kind of world took a boy away from his life, from his final years of school and childhood and innocence? What kind of world took Virgil’s brother, made him face years of lying to teachers about why his homework wasn’t complete, why he was falling asleep in class, made him learn which cleaning chemicals hurt when they touched bare skin, made him learn to shave from YouTube videos because he no longer had a father to teach him? 

Why couldn’t they have been born in a kinder world? Surely they didn’t deserve  _ this _ . Surely  _ Patton  _ didn’t deserve this. 

Eventually, Virgil was able to pour it all out, gloves damp from his tears, heart empty and slow. 

“Is this really it?” he whispered to the dark room, finally looking up. In the dark, the room seemed a lot bigger than it was, a lot emptier. It felt like worlds existed between him and anyone else. Virgil would have to cross deserts, climb mountains, to ever see another living soul again. And he really couldn’t be bothered. 

He couldn’t imagine staying here, and he couldn’t imagine ever getting out. Virgil closed his eyes, took in another shaky breath. 

Then he rose. Virgil stood from those stairs and blindly crossed the room. His eyes had only adjusted a fraction, but he was able to locate the old oil lamp they kept down there for power outages. He found a matchbook, lit the lantern, and cranked the lever. A dull flame awoke to the night. 

“Hello,” Virgil said, greeting the light. He set it down on the table, stacked with miscellaneous objects. Looking around, Virgil recognized many things which once had home in the main house. 

Anything Janus deemed “in the way” ended up there. Virgil should have known he’d get thrown there eventually. 

There were family photos galore. Virgil sifted through a couple and smiled, remembering when they’d littered the walls, remembering when they’d been taken. 

There was one on Christmas where Virgil had cried after his dad placed him on Santa’s lap, and Patton had held his hand. 

There was another of Virgil with big clunky braces and Patton with a missing front tooth, both grinning broadly to show off their horrible teeth. 

And there were a lot with their dad too--crooked selfies on old cameras of them all throwing peace signs, of his dad, starry-eyed, holding Patton the day he was born, of him pushing Virgil on the old tire swing out back. 

Piled in the cellar, though, there were mostly things of Patton’s. Since Janus was staying, his room took the brunt of the changes. Stuffed animals, polaroid photos, scarves and hats and board games. The only two rooms left untouched had been Virgil’s and their dad’s. Virgil’s because he lived there, and Janus didn’t bother with it. Their dad’s because… 

Well, Janus at least had respect for the dead. No one had been in there for years. 

Virgil sighed then picked up a hat. The cellar offered no protection from the winter air outside, so Virgil didn’t hesitate to wrap himself in Patton’s blue and pink knit clothing. While he was at it, he thought he might as well take a few of the photos. If it wasn’t Janus who came to get him, then it’d be guards to arrest him. He wanted something to remember his family by when he was locked up awaiting trial. 

That is, if anyone came to get him at all. “I could starve down here,” Virgil murmured, yet, somehow, the words didn’t hit. They didn’t catch in Virgil’s brain, didn’t touch a nerve or neuron or synapse. 

He could die. He probably would. But Virgil didn’t care. 

He just didn’t care anymore. 

He had cared too much in this lifetime. 

Caring had, after all, been his downfall, hadn’t it? Perhaps it was time to concede. 

Virgil picked a few of his favorites and slipped the photos into his pocket. His fingers grazed against something cool and solid, and he traded the smooth, glossy prints for it. Retracting his hand, he recognized the vial. 

He hadn’t used the potion Logan gave him. He’d been too caught up in arguing, in trying to get Roman to just  _ believe  _ him. Logan had put their faith in him too, and Virgil had failed them. 

Virgil had really failed everyone, hadn’t he? 

He passed a thumb over the glassy surface and stuck it back in his pocket. “I’m sorry, Logan,” he murmured in the same dull tone from before. “I’m sorry, Patton. I’m sorry, Roman,” he said, voice growing quieter. “I’m sorry… Dad.” 

Once upon a time, Virgil had resented his father. For dying. For leaving them. For indebting them to Janus. He had let that bitterness fill him up when only sorrow would have remained. He had focused all his loneliness at Patton being away, all his anger at Janus, all his confusion at his father’s death--all of it into resentment. 

He had given up on that long ago. He had given up many of his emotions throughout the years. They had no place in the home that once was his, in the heart that once was his, in the life that once was-

Virgil had to survive. That was the excuse, wasn’t it? Those emotions would have debilitated him. His caring could have lost him everything. Virgil had to be selfish. He had to do everything for Patton. Nothing else mattered. Not school, not Janus, not Virgil’s exhaustion or anger or loneliness or fear. Not former friends. Not innocent princes. 

And definitely not soulmates.

When Virgil stayed up into the dead of night, he didn’t contemplate the cruel ways of the world, didn’t muse on his nonexistent future, didn’t ponder the selfish emotions that tried to stir him from his stricken life. He only thought of Patton--what was happening to him, how Virgil’s mistakes would hurt him, if he was as afraid as Virgil was, if he was as alone as Virgil felt. 

His morning ritual erased it all. He woke up empty and drained, anxiety buzzing through his veins. He watched his coffee brew, and drew every thought out, dispelled it somewhere that could only haunt his nights. He sat down with his mug, gazed into the smooth reflection of the liquid--at dark eyes, darker eyeshadow covering even darker eyebags--and gave up. Each and every morning, he gave up. 

For years, everything left was fear. But then, he had been brave. 

For a moment Virgil had been brave. He had gone to the ball, had tried saving the prince for some godforsaken reason. 

And then… he had met him. Virgil had met Roman. 

And emotion had burst back in full color. Not just red. Not just purple. Not just bravery or fear. 

Joy. Strength. Agitation. Humor. Peace. Sorrow. Connection. 

Hope.

Love. 

Virgil let out another shaky breath, a sudden fog clouding his eyes. He sat down carefully, curling into himself as the chill of the stone floor seeped into his jeans. Funny, he thought he’d been out of tears. He thought he’d given up.

But once Roman had brought them out, they were impossible to confine once more. His emotions, now on full display for the world. Roman was Pandora, foolishly releasing the evils of mankind from Virgil’s heart. He wanted to shove every last emotion back into that stupid box, but once out, they could not be caught. 

“That damn jerk,” Virgil cursed, trying to pull at the hatred floating around, to use it against Roman. Surely he deserved it. Surely Roman could bear the brunt of these emotions he so recklessly let out. Somehow, though, Virgil couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be mad at him. 

After everything, Virgil still loved him. He didn’t want Roman to die. 

Virgil didn’t sleep that night. His eyes followed the flame in the oil lamp as he recollected moments and memories of those he would lose and those he had lost. His father’s kind eyes. Patton’s bright laughter. Roman’s soft smile, so close next to a kitchen sink. 

Instead of fear, Virgil indulged in emotions he had not thought of in years, beckoning them closer as they flew wild throughout his head. It had seemed so much lighter at the ball, in the flower shop, in the kitchen when the emotions were wonderful. 

In the dark Virgil was confronted with snarling and quivering feelings that darted away at his touch. He was not to control them, after all. They would run free as they liked. 

He lost track of time watching the dancing flame. Eventually, the oil ran out, and Virgil was left to the blue and purple hues of an encroaching morning. It wasn’t until the sun again crept through the door’s cracks that Virgil stirred, however. 

The festival was to last all day, but the parade opened it. In an hour or two, Roman and Janus would ride a float out into the square, and that was where it would all end. Virgil wondered if it would be painful, if it would be quick. Would Roman suffer? 

Heartache. Another emotion. Virgil’s eyes could not leave the sunlight leaking in. The dawn of a new day felt different when it was the last. 

Was Roman looking at this sunrise for the last time? 

Virgil could barely see it himself, but he hoped Roman could. Roman deserved something nice today. Maybe he could think about it instead of the pain, the betrayal, and the fear. 

The sun moved, and Virgil tried to guess the time. He couldn’t see enough to get an accurate gauge though, and he sat back in ignorance, wondering if it had happened yet. Would he feel it? Would Virgil somehow, intuitively know it had happened? He felt like he should know when the world no longer had a light like Roman in it. 

Virgil looked down at his soulmark. Would it wither when its connection severed? Could soulmarks die? That should be common knowledge, right? He would have heard if widowed soulmates no longer had a mark.

But the mark changed with their connection. Just like these roses grew when Virgil had fallen in love. Just like these thorns had sharpened when Roman hadn’t believed him. If one soulmate was dead, they would react.

Virgil had never been good at paying attention to soulmark stuff, but he knew this must be true. For like the flowers, Virgil felt as though he would wither up and die too. 

And perhaps if Roman’s death killed Virgil, he would not be around when Patton was gone too. 

Suddenly, a thought came to him. If there was a chance to be arrested at the festival, would Janus have killed Patton before he went? 

Was his brother already dead? 

Just as Virgil’s breathing picked up, there was a noise outside the cellar. He froze, terrified, before becoming confused. 

Who in the world would be in their backyard? 

There was a knock on the door. Virgil scrambled up, red eyes wide and staring. “Hello?” a familiar voice asked from the other side, not too muffled because of the cracks. Virgil ran, bolting up the steps and getting as close as he possibly could. 

“Hello?” he replied. “I’m down here! Could you let me out?” He sounded desperate, but he didn’t care about that now. Whoever this was, they would have to let him out. Virgil tried to pick at his brain--was it a neighbor? Was that why their voice sounded familiar? 

“Give me a moment and I’ll find something to break the lock, Virgil,” they called, and the way they said his name, so naturally, felt wrong and right at the same time. He didn’t think he knew this person well enough for his name to come so easily from their tongue, but something about them, something about their voice… 

Virgil was broken from his thoughts when the door bounced with the weight of something. He yelped and jumped back. 

“Oh goodness! Were you right behind it? Please, stand back,” the voice said. 

“I’m back!” Virgil called, then there was another thump. 

And another and another until finally, Virgil heard a weight drop from the door and the thumping stopped. He waited with baited breath.

The door was wrenched open. 

The sun streamed in. 

Virgil raised a hand to shield his eyes. He had never felt so relieved.

A figure stood, a dark outline against the newly risen sun. They leaned down to offer a hand, and the sun reflected off their glasses. 

Virgil gasped midreach, his hand paused in the air as he stared. There was a reason the voice was familiar. It had grown deeper, but overall, it was still bubbly and bouncy, cheery even in the most dire of circumstances. 

He stepped up out of the cellar, bypassing the hand. Instead he reached up and threw his arms around the man. 

“Patton,” he said. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but like hell was he letting go. “Patton, is this really you?” 

The man’s arms reached over and encircled Virgil as well. He could already feel the tears on his shoulder. “Yeah,” Patton choked. “Yeah, it’s me.” 

“Oh my god,” Virgil said, slowly. Then, a gasp. “Oh my god!” 

Patton made a noise of agreement, holding him tighter. Virgil gripped the fabric at the back of Patton’s shirt. 

“You’re here,” he whispered. 

For a moment they stood like that, unmoving, two brothers against the world. As it had always been, even apart. Eventually, Patton got his tears under control enough to speak up. 

“I lived, bitch,” he said, smile still wobbly. Virgil gasped out a laugh, head tilting forward to press against his brother’s chest. He shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve been looking for the right moment,” Patton continued. “Logan said last night definitely was the time.”

Virgil leaned back, just enough to see his brother’s face. His big round glasses were the same, though they fit just a bit better after all these years. He wondered if Patton needed a new prescription. Probably. 

His freckles were the same. His bright blue eyes were the same. His smile--it was all the same. 

He was taller though. And his voice was a bit deeper. His eyes… they were still bright, still blue, but they were older. And a little less innocent. Patton had been locked up for quite some time, after all. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Virgil said. Patton beamed, and Virgil felt his heart pick up. 

“Me neither,” his brother replied. “When Logan told me he’d locked you in the cellar, I couldn’t believe it! I thought Janus was trying to stay inconspicuous.” 

“He was, but I tried to sabotage him. He’s planning to kill the prince,” Virgil explained. Patton’s eyes grew wide. 

“Oh my…” 

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “We need to get there as soon as possible. I need to stop it.” 

“But how?” Patton asked. “You’re not going to get hurt, right?” 

Virgil grabbed Patton’s hand and started dragging him along. “I’ll sure try not to,” he said. He could feel it--that strength coming back. Mostly, it was desperation, but some of it--some of it was  _ hope _ . 

He could still do this. With Patton by his side, Virgil could do anything. He no longer had to worry what would happen to his brother. Patton was free. 

But sometimes Virgil forgot he wasn’t the only one who worried. 

Patton pulled them to a stop, turned Virgil to look at him. Confused, Virgil tried to get them going again. 

“We don’t have much time, Pat,” he said.

Patton shook his head. “Virgil, listen to me.” Virgil stopped. Patton’s eyes had dimmed. His smile had turned into a worried frown. “I just got you back. I can’t lose you again.” 

For a moment Virgil just looked at his brother--looked at his eyes and frown, looked at how much he had changed. Virgil wasn’t the only one who’d been affected by this. He hadn’t been the only one fighting to keep his brother safe. 

He squeezed Patton’s hand. 

Maybe- maybe Patton wouldn’t have done better in his place. Maybe Patton wouldn’t have done the right thing and saved the prince. Because who was a strange prince to a beloved brother? 

Maybe Virgil hadn’t been acting so selfishly after all. Or maybe being selfish at times wasn’t so bad. 

Whatever it was, it sure wouldn’t have been only Virgil struggling with it. 

“I’ll be alright, Pat,” he said. “Promise.” 

Patton’s eyebrows furrowed. He looked as if he’d like nothing better than to take Virgil now and run, but he shook his head, swapped his frown for a smile. “Okay,” Patton said. “As long as you promise.” 

-/-

_ On a dim evening not too long ago, Virgil stood in as someone he wasn’t. These weren’t his clothes, no matter how comfortably they fit or exact the shade of purple was to his favorite. These weren’t his feelings, light and carefree, brave and spontaneous, warm and so close to something curling sweetly around his heart, fragrant and intoxicating. He was falling, and for once Virgil did not care.  _

_ He was beside someone he should have never met. And yet fate decided it was always meant to be.  _

_ This wasn’t his life. The glow of expensive lamps. The laugh of proper guests. The shine of polished floors. The delicate fall of a red sash across a chest.  _

_ It was foreign, yet Virgil found he didn’t mind. In a corner of the room, he and Roman lived far away from it all. The prince had stepped out of the world Virgil didn’t belong, Virgil had stepped out of the one Roman could never know, and for a night they were each others’.  _

_ They had laughed and teased. They had told long, winding stories. They had stood too close, almost touching. Almost--not quite, however. Touch hadn’t come until their ruin.  _

_ Now, though, their energy had declined. Their tones floated down like leaves in the slightest breeze. Virgil could only see Roman’s eyes, a bit unsure, but so sincere he thought his heart might leap out to just hold his hand.  _

_ Roman spoke like he was handing over a secret, something precious, cupped in the palms of Virgil’s hands like a baby bird. He felt unworthy; he felt crippling fear of dropping this precious thing, of ruining it. How did he handle it? How did he care for it? No one had ever taught him how to care for baby birds.  _

_ But he had touched this precious thing, and the mother would not come back. It was for Virgil to hold.  _

_ “I would like to be a good ruler someday,” Roman said, words picked out carefully, syllables measured steadily. “I want to be kind and fair and respectful. I love our people.”  _

_ Virgil didn’t know how to care for baby birds, so he hesitated. His words wouldn’t come out right. It was possible Virgil would think back to this conversation and cringe, bang his head against a wall. But he had to try.  _

_ “I think you can,” he said simply, voice smoother now than the usual harsh reality. He wouldn’t allow Roman to hear uncertainty in that. Virgil really did believe it, and he had to make sure Roman knew that.  _

_ “I think it’s a nice profession, don’t you? I get to make a difference. I get to care for people. I get to fight for what I believe,” Roman said. “But that’s sorta what makes it scary too.” _

_ Virgil tilted his head to indicate he was listening. Roman was going somewhere with this. Virgil wanted to know where.  _

_ “There will be so many people counting on me,” he continued, voice smaller now, so quiet Virgil had to lean closer to hear. And they were already so close. “No time for a learning curve. No room for mistake. Everything I do, it affects someone. I could do something and it could flip someone’s entire world upside down. I will be in charge of these people, and it could cost their lives.”  _

_ “Oh,” Virgil said, suddenly understanding. His mind was whirring, his eyes calculating, taking Roman in not for the first time, but something quite like it. Every new thing he learned about the man, it was like he was meeting him anew.  _

_ Virgil imagined that weight--the weight of a nation, of real people counting on your every move. He couldn’t have done it. Virgil would never have survived like that. He barely survived with just his brother counting on him.  _

_ But Roman, despite his fears, despite that immense pressure, he  _ chose  _ to do this. He wasn’t afraid to make a difference. He was going to step up and risk everything he was for his people day after day.  _

_ He couldn’t blame Roman for being afraid, but he could give him props for his bravery. Roman didn’t freeze up knowing all these people were counting on him. Instead he pushed forward. Virgil had known him just a few hours, but he was learning that this was just who Roman was.  _

_ So it hurt to hear this doubt in his voice.  _

_ “It’s a lot to carry,” Virgil said. “But you’re going to be a great ruler. I just know it.”  _

_ “How?” Roman asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. He stared intensely at the ground for a moment, breathed a hard breath out. “How can you know that?”  _

_ “I just do, Roman,” Virgil said, leaning back on the wall to give the premise of casualness. He couldn’t help but wrap one arm around his chest, a little support to get the words out. “You are going to make mistakes--that’s not even a question; you’re freaking human, dude--but I know your interests are right. You’ll do everything in your power to help your people. That’s more than a lot of rulers do.”  _

_ “I don’t want to just be more than other rulers,” Roman argued, looking up. “I want to be right for the kingdom.”  _

_ “And I’m telling you that you are, dude,” Virgil said. “Just-”  _

_ Virgil cut off. He breathed in, trying to come up with the right thing, trying to say something that would get Roman to listen, to understand. He needed to cut through this doubt.  _

_ He needed Roman to see himself like Virgil saw him.  _

_ “Listen to your heart,” he said, thinking of what a wonderful heart this man had. “Listen to your head,” he said because Roman was so so smart--if only he could see. “Listen to your gut,” he said--Roman’s very being was connected to this earth, to this kingdom. “Whatever it is, just listen to  _ yourself _ , Roman. Stop doubting yourself.”  _

_ Roman looked stunned, eyes taking on another shade as they widened. Green to black, his pupils dilated, taking Virgil in with a new gaze. His mouth opened slightly, lips a delicate curve of surprise. For a moment he seemed stuck there, unmoving until Virgil shifted on his feet, made unsure by the silence.  _

_ He’d tried so hard to care for this bird.  _

_ Virgil averted his gaze, bringing up his other arm to join the first across his chest. His eyes moved across the floor to the room as a whole, watching the people mingle and dance.  _

_ “Hey,” Roman called softly, and Virgil’s gaze was slowly, gently, drawn back. His heart thumped when he realized Roman wasn’t shocked or sad or unsure any longer. Instead there was a soft smile that graced his features.  _

_ That smile would haunt Virgil for the rest of his days.  _

_ “Thank you,” Roman said, nodding his head slightly as he held Virgil’s eyes. There was still something there, something in Roman’s eyes that seemed to take Virgil in with all they could. But it was less intense, and Virgil was able to stay.  _

_ For a bit longer, he could stay. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I am extending the chapter number. I should have known I should never predict how many chapters a fic of mine is going to be. I /always/ need to extend it lol.   
> Hope you all are doing well! Thank you so much for reading, and to all your lovely people who leave comments! Love you!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to find me on Tumblr, where I post updates, recommend fics, take requests, and whatever else, [check here!](https://codevassie.tumblr.com/)


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